


The Nun

by H4T08



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Explicit Sexual Content, Goes into Season Two, Multi, Oral Sex, Sex, Sexual Violence, starts in season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-06-01 08:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 99,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H4T08/pseuds/H4T08
Summary: By day, she is a waitress in a small breakfast diner in Poplar.By night, she is a high-class prostitute simply known as 'The Nun'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Holy moly... starting a new multi-chapter story and an AU to boot. It takes place in the same time period and in the same place. It is a different take on how Patrick and Shelagh met and fell in love.
> 
> Please, please heed the tags. 
> 
> I really hope you like it! :)

“Good morning,” the gentle lilt of a woman's Scottish accent has Patrick glancing up from his morning paper. “I was told that you take your coffee black.”

“Yes. Yes I do.” He shuffles his paper into his lap which instantly falls down to the floor. Embarrassment stings his rosy cheeks as he pushes his chair back and dives under the table to pick up his mess. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles to the floor.

“No use crying over spilt milk,” she quietly responds as she leans down onto her knees to help him. “Or flimsy newspaper.” Once all papers are collected, she gives him a small smile, “Good as new.”

Mesmerized by her kind smile, he pushes himself up straight into the thick wood of the table. “Ouch!” His hand automatically probes the back of his head.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes.” His palm rubs against his tender skin. “I promise I’m not as clumsy as I am right now.”

“Slippery babies and all,” she quips quiet enough for just them to hear.

The length of his laughter bounces off of the walls of the rather empty diner. “I should hope so.” He folds his newspaper over as best as he can. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“I just started working here. My name is Shelagh.”

“And is that a Scottish accent I hear?”

Her chin falls to her chest. “Is that a problem?”

“Never in my book.” He gives her an encouraging smile. “As far as I’m concerned, we all bleed the same color.”

“Yes.” She returns the smile and instantly he is once again mesmerized by it. “Your usual plate will be ready soon. I’ll be back to bring it and a fresh cup of coffee.”

“Thank you, Shelagh.”

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, Doctor Turner,” Shelagh smiles kindly as she juggles three plates. “I shall have your coffee within two shakes of a lambs tail.”

“No bother really,” he smiles back.

Settling the plates down in front of the dock workers, she asks them if there is anything else they need before disappearing behind the counter.

“Right nice piece of ass that one has,” one of the dock workers calls to his buddies, not even trying to keep his voice at a respectable level. “And I’m sure the tits are just as lovely as her posh attitude.”

Patrick rolls his eyes before turning to them, “Oy! Show the lady some respect.”

“Lay off sawbones and mind your own damn business.” The docker completes the insult with a rude gesture, much to the jargon of his buddies.

“I make it my own damn business when you are as loud as a docks whistle. Now show the lady some respect.”

“Or what?” He shovels his eggs into his over-stuffed mouth. “You’ll go running to the nuns?” His buddies around him cackle and snort into their own breakfast plates.

“Even worse,” Patrick lifts his brow, “your wife who, by my recollection, had just given birth to your fourth child and has a leash on you as tight as a tick.”

The other dockers howl with laughter, one punching his angry friend in the arm and murmuring, “The doc has got that right on ya. Don’t want the misses kickin’ ya out on your bum like last time.” Standing up, he throws money on the table. “Come on, you sack of shit, we have to get goin’ anyways.”

Allowing his friends to leave before him, the lone docker comes up to Patrick, hat in his hands, “You won’t tell the misses, will ya?”

Patrick concedes with a shake of his head, “Of course not, Mr. Gentry. Not when she has already been through so much.”

“Thanks to you and Sister Evangelina, she and the lil’ tike are as healthy as an ox.” He tips his hat and makes his way out of the diner.

“I could have sworn that was going to end in a fist fight,” Shelagh rounds the corner with a pot of coffee in one hand and his traditional breakfast in the other.

“Nah,” he shrugs his shoulders and tucks in his napkin, “this is the east end. It might not be the prettiest or the most proper bit of square mile, but we take care of our own.”

“Regardless,” she lays her hand on his shoulder, “thank you.”

He looks up at her, the heat of her palm making his heart canter to an impossible pace, “You are most welcome.”

 

* * *

 

“Greetings, Doctor Turner,” Shelagh briefly glances over her shoulder. “Take a seat, I’ll put on a new pot of coffee for you.” Getting busy, it isn’t until she is pouring him a cup when she realizes that he has yet to say anything. Stealing another glance over her shoulder, she takes in his hunched shoulders and long face. Realizing that something must have happened, she immediately brings the cup of coffee. “On the house.”

He shakes his head, “No, no,” he pulls out a few coins from his pocket and lays them on the table. “If I could get a cup to go, I would be forever in your debt.”

“Of course.” Biting down on her bottom lip, she timidly reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder. Being the only ones in the room, she feels more confident than if they had other people sharing the space. “Are you okay, doctor?”

“I… it just… it has been a trying day,” he threads his fingers through his hair. Rolling his shoulders back, he gives her a small smile that has no chance of reaching his eyes, “Never you mind.”

She settles down into the chair next to him, “I have about fifteen minutes until I have to close the diner and Bob has gone out to market for tomorrow’s groceries.”

Rubbing his thumb and forefinger in circles, he takes a deep breath. “I had to write two death certificates this morning. Peggy and Frank. They have… I have seen them so many times around the community.”

“Were they husband and wife?”

“Brother and sister, both of whom had grown up in a workhouse life. He had died of cancer and she, unable to live without him, took an overdose of morphine pills.” He takes a long sip of his coffee.

“I thought workhouses were the stuff of legend, mainly through Dickens.”

“Thankfully the last one closed its doors going on ten years ago, yet, it left a lot of desolate people in its wake, mainly people who cannot care for themselves on their own.” He lifts his brow, “Not Peggy and Frank, though. They were the rare birds who made it out thanks to their love for one another.”

Comprehension of what he is implying rings through her head, yet, far be it from her to judge these people whom she had never known. _If they knew what I do…_ “Love is rather powerful when it comes from meager upbringings such as a workhouse life.”

He looks at her for the longest time with a curious expression furrowing his brow. “Love is powerful no matter where it comes from.” A light tint of blush crosses both cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He stands from his chair, “I really must be going.”

Shaking her head she stands and quickly walks behind the counter, “Not before your cup.” Handing it off to him, they smile at each other before he walks out of the diner.

 

* * *

 

“Greetings, Doctor Turner.” Shelagh places the plates down onto her other customers table before turning to him. “Oh! Hello. Who might you be?”

The small boy sitting next to the doctor gives a cheeky grin. “Timothy Turner. I’m going to be twelve soon, my favorite subject in school is science, I love omelets, and you are very pretty.”

“Here! Here!” from the gentlemen behind her mixes with Patrick’s “Timothy!”

Blushing a creamy pink, Shelagh pushes her glasses back up her nose. “Doctor Turner, I have known you for the past four and a half months and this is the first time I’m hearing that you have a son?”

“That’s not very nice, dad,” Timothy exclaims.

Shelagh grins at the doctor’s stumbling. “I’m just playing, Doctor Turner. I’ll put in an order for an omelet for the handsome young man who loves science just as much as I do.” The men behind her begins to cackle and make kissy faces. “And no more from the peanut gallery,” she throws over her shoulder, “or I shall have Ms. Norma bring out your meals from now on.”

“Thank you, Ms. Shelagh,” Patrick murmurs as she turns to walk away. 

Timothy watches her slip behind the counter. “She’s very pretty,” he mutters under his breath so that his dad is the only one can hear. When his dad doesn’t reply, he looks over to see that he is just as captivated.

 

* * *

 

“Why, hello there Timothy ‘I love science and omelettes’ Turner,” Shelagh gives the young boy a smile as she places the bag of trash in the dumpster.

“Oh, hello,” he mumbles towards the ground.

Twirling around, she gives him a sharper look when she sees that he is hobbling past. “Is everything okay?” Then she spots it, a rather nasty gash on his skinned knee. “Oh no! Are you on your way to your dad for him to fix it up?”

“No,” he mutters with the roll of his eyes, “he’s too busy.”

“Well then come on in.” She opens the door wide enough for both of them to walk through. “I can patch you up and send you on your way in no time at all.”

He perks up. “Really?”

“Come along then,” she beckons him in with the flick of her wrist. After he sits down in one of the chairs, she goes behind the counter to gather the accouterments needed. She then bends down in front of him. “I have to use a tad bit of alcohol to clean your scape, but it should be better after that.”

“I know.” Taking a deep breath, he grips the chair as she cleans his wound. Within a matter of moments, she has a bandage covering his knee. Inspecting her work, he gives her a bright smile. “Smashing! Thank you so much!”

She laughs as she stands to view her handy work, “Not a problem. Just make sure you tell your father.”

“I promise,” he yells out just before he runs out the door.

 

* * *

 

“Good morning Ms. Shelagh,” Timothy gives her a toothy grin as she places his milk and his dad’s coffee on the table. “Guess what?! Guess what?!”

“You’re off on Christmas break and you are so excited to help your dad clean all the beakers and specimen jars at the surgery?”

Timothy makes a face while his dad laughs at his son’s expense. “Eww! No!”  His face brightens to that innocent boyish charm. “We were given our science fair assignments. I’m doing mine on the different kinds of mold found in Poplar.” The young man is literally bouncing in his seat. “Dad says that I can come with him on house visits too!”

“That sounds wonderful, Timothy.” Shelagh gives him a sly grin before murmuring to the doctor, “although, I was rather close with the specimen jars.”

“Very,” Patrick murmurs back with twinkling eyes. “Yet, Timothy also knows that he cannot come with me on every house call.”

“But, dad,” the younger Turner whines, “the house calls with women parts takes up most of your time. How am I able to collect samples if I have to stay in the car?”

“I can take you,” Shelagh cheerfully answers.

Patrick’s, “we couldn’t impose,” clashes against Timothy’s, “that sounds splendid.”

“I promise, Doctor Turner, it will be no imposition. I get off after the lunch rush at two. I can pick him up from your surgery center and when we are finished, I can take him home.”

“Dad! Please, please, please!”

“But it’s Christmas Eve,” he struggles against the logical side that tells him to agree.

“I do have plans at eight o’clock, but we should be finished by then.”

“I hate to take you away from your family, but, if you don’t mind.”

She gives the Turner men a bright smile. “I don’t mind whatsoever. I will pick him up at a quarter past two and will have him back home by five. Three hours should be enough time to find many mold samples.” She turns to Timothy, “During the time you are at the surgery center, you need to make sure you pack enough specimen jars, swabs, and gloves.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

 _Thank you_ , Patrick silently mouths before she turns back towards the kitchen to get their order.

 

* * *

 

“Hello?” Patrick kicks the door closed as he shrugs off his coat. “Timothy? Are you here?”

“We are in the kitchen,” is the answer that he receives. Abruptly stopping with his coat halfway down his arms, Patrick glances at the general direction of the kitchen. “Hells bells, it’s a bloody mess in here,” he mutters under his breath. Tip toeing down the hall, he peeks in the parlor to see that the window leading to the kitchen is closed. Quickly zooming in, Patrick sweeps up as much of the mess as possible and stuffs it underneath the sofa before meeting them in the kitchen.

“You know, dad, she had seen the parlor and didn’t say a word about it.” Timothy grins from behind the microscope.

“Yet, Timothy was the first to blame it on you,” Shelagh supplies with the arch of her brow. “Tell me, Doctor Turner, I didn’t know you loved to read Superman comics.”

“I buy them with my pocket money,” he quips.

“Dad!” Timothy’s cheeks burn in embarrassment, but he forges on. “We found fifteen different samples of mold – five just down one alley! Akela said that it was okay if I borrowed the microscope, just as long as I cleaned it and brought it back by tomorrow.”

Walking up closer to their work table, Patrick looks down at his son’s work so far. “Very interesting! I like the pictures and the descriptions.”

“That was Ms. Shelagh’s idea.”

“Were you able to identify some of these mold spores?”

“No, but that’ll be my homework for the next few days. Do you have any books on mold?”

Patrick bites down on his bottom lip, “No, at least not ones that are up to date. I’ll take you to the library tomorrow to check out a few books.”

“It’s Christmas tomorrow. The library will be closed.”

“Oh,” Patrick blushes something fierce, “that’s right. I must have forgotten.”

“Well I must be going.” Shelagh claps Timothy on the shoulder. “You have made a great start. I would love to see the final product when you are finished with it.”

“I will bring it with me to the diner when I am finished.” He turns and gives her a small hug. “Thank you for your help!”

Genuinely surprised, Shelagh gingerly wraps her arms around his shoulders. “I had a lot of fun today.”

“I’ll walk you out, Ms. Shelagh.” Patrick stands to the side to let her go through the doorway first. “Thank you again for taking Timothy this afternoon.”

“Yes, well, what girl in her right mind would pass up the chance to dumpster dive for a mold samples?” She gives the doctor a coy grin at his horrified expression. “We had a good time, Doctor Turner.”

“I’m glad.” Reaching in to his coat pocket, he pulls out a small white envelope and hands it to her. “Merry Christmas.”

All the color from her cheeks disappears. “What is this?”

“This is for your help this afternoon as well as for any inconveniences that might have happened.” He is mildly surprised that she has yet to take the envelope. “I hope you will not be late for your plans at eight o’clock.”

“I… I don’t need your money.”

“Please! I insist!” He pushes the envelope closer to her. “Think of it as cab fare for where you need to go this evening or for a early Christmas dinner.”

Reluctantly, Shelagh takes the envelope and stuffs it in her purse. “Thank you. That is most kind.”

“Have a good evening, Ms. Shelagh and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Doctor Turner.” She gives him a small smile before slipping out into the dying light of the evening.

 

* * *

 

“Daaad! You should have invited her for Christmas!”

“She said that she had plans tonight,” Patrick mentally kicks himself for his own cowardice, “besides she might be spending Christmas with her own family.”

Timothy’s nose pinches in confusion, “If her family lives in Chelsea, then why does she work here in Poplar?”

“What do you mean?”

“Earlier, I had asked if she wanted to take a few specimen jars with her just in case she saw mold wherever she was going. She told me that it would be hard pressed to find mold of any kind in Chelsea.”

Crumpling up the greasy paper that held his fish and chips, he sighs, “I don’t know, son, but it’s none of our business.”

“But you agree with me that she is very pretty, you know man to man?”

Patrick sighs again, “She is very pretty, but not as pretty as your mum.”

“I still miss her.”

Patrick wraps his around around his son. “Me too, but we’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Do you think mum would like Ms. Shelagh?”

 _As a person, there was no one on this Earth that Mariann did not like – well other than Hitler, of course – but as a pretty woman I go out of my way to see every morning?_ “I think your mum would like her. She’s nice to both of us and she helped you with your science project.”

For a few minutes, both Turner men sit in silence as Timothy finishes his own fish and chips. When his garbage is thrown away, he confesses, “I placed a few specimen jars in her purse when she wasn’t looking.”

“Timothy!”

“Just in case she does find mold in Chelsea.”

Patrick rolls his eyes as he stands and pushes his son towards the stairs. “Come. First a bath and then an early bedtime for you.”

 

* * *

 

The moonlight filters in through the sheer curtains and brings light to the otherwise dark room.

The curve of his naked flesh glittering in the soft glow of the moon, the growl of satisfaction rolling out deep from within his thraot, and the smell of sex permeates her senses.

 _A new man and by the sound of it, hopefully a regular customer to add to my growing list_.

“Mmm…,” his fingers run through her hair as she takes his cock all the way to the hilt within her mouth.

A hint of a smile stretches along his cock as she pushes his legs wider. _Definitely a new regular._ Reaching between his legs, she pumps him with her fist in a sinful symphony as her other hand cups his balls. Teasing him with the tip of her tongue, she takes him all in and bobs her head up and down for his final crescendo.

“God! Oh, God!” His muscles tense as he reaches his peak. “Oh! Yes! Suck it down.” He thrusts his hips against her mouth and doesn't let up until she swallows. “God! Fuck!”

Lightly tracing her tongue along his sensitive skin, she lays her hands on his knees and continues to kiss the inside of his thighs. “Has a woman ever swallowed for you, James?”

“Never,” he tilts her chin up, “you are an angel, Bernadette.”

She kisses the tip of his penis, “I aim to please.” Drawing a wet line around his bellybutton, she captures one of his nipples between her teeth and flicks her tongue against the stretched bud. _Hardly our final performance. He paid to keep me for the whole night._

“God! You are insatiable.” His hand sneaks down between their bodies and begins to stoke his cock. “You’ve made me come twice and you still want more.”

"You be the judge, Doctor.” She reaches for his hand and presses it against her dripping wet center. “And your diagnosis?”

His middle finger curls between the lips of her vagina, making her moan against his wet nipple. “That you enjoy sucking my prick.”

“Mmmm,” she grinds herself against his finger, “correct diagnosis, Doctor.”

“God! I want to fuck you!” Yet, with his dick still flaccid, resting against his thigh, he would have to wait.

“I have a perfect idea on how to pass time,” she nips on his other nipple, “if you are interested.”

Another finger joins his middle one as her excitement drips down his knuckles. “God, you are so fucking wet.”

Kissing him hard on the lips, she enjoys the feeling of his thumb circling along her clit. “Lay down on the bed.” Groaning as he leaves her body completely, she walks around to the other side and crawls onto the bed on her knees. Just as she is about to straddle his face, she looks down and smiles. “You are a doctor. I assume you know the female sexual organ.”

“Intimately.” He begins to fist his cock once again.

“We shall see. If you receive top marks in making me orgasm, then I will let you fuck me from behind.” Even in the dark room, she can see his eyes twinkling with delight.

“Come here, my dear,” he wraps his hands around her thighs to bring her closer to his mouth.

Leaning over to help him reach her clitoris, she begins to stroke him back to life once again.

 

* * *

 

“Another satisfied customer,” Shelagh hands over the envelope with money stuffed in it, “and I believe he is willing to become a regular.”

“Those National Health board members are always itching to get their hands on a nice clean woman to debouch their nights.” Elizabeth fingers through the bills, “Yet, they are always able to pay their bills.”

“If you don’t mind,” Shelagh picks up her purse, “I need to clean up here before returning back to Poplar.”

“Ugh! I don’t know how you can stand such filth!”

“It’s not so bad, plus, I know for a fact that these two worlds will never intersect.”

“Hmmm, true as you might be, I don’t want you to let your guard down. The sailors and dock workers down there don’t care how they get their rocks off and they have been known to rape women.” Elizabeth holds out her hand, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Shelagh grabs her hand and squeezes it tightly, “I won’t, I promise.” Squeezing it one more time, she lets it go and turns towards the bathroom. As she is washing her hands, she noticed that there is a bit of mold in the corner of the drain.

Drying her hands, she takes the specimen jar from her purse that Timothy Turner had snuck in when she wasn’t looking and took a swab from a cotton swab in the medicine cabinet. Placing it in the specimen jar, she buries it in her purse and walks out.

“Don’t forget, my dear, we are having Christmas dinner at six sharp.” Elizabeth glances up from her ledger and offers a kind smile.

“The church is offering services this afternoon.” At Elizabeth’s pinched nose, Shelagh adds, “I shall be here in time to be able to cook something up.”

“Very well," Elizabeth sighs, "just as long as you make that delicious tart and, of course, pray for forgiveness for us sinners and whores,” Her eyes twinkle in mirth as she holds out an envelope with money in it.

“Don’t I always,” Shelagh quips back before stuffing the money in her purse and walking out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support!

“Greetings Doctor Turner! I hope all has been well during your New Years!” Shelagh places his cup of coffee down onto the table. “How is Timothy fairing with his science project?”

“He has been nonstop since Christmas Eve.” He folds his paper and places it on the chair next to him. “The only time he had stopped was to eat, use the loo, and to visit his moth—” He abruptly stops as fear unexplainably clenches his throat.

Taking in his pale cheeks, Shelagh asks, “Are you alright, Doctor?”

“He went to go visit his mother.” Ever since his talk with Timothy about Mariann and Ms. Shelagh, he has been wondering if it’s a good idea to continue to come to this diner. Before meeting her, he would only come in occasionally, once a week, twice, max. But now, his day is not complete without getting his cup of coffee from her. _And that scares me the most._

“Timothy had told me that his mother passed away about a year ago when we were looking for mold.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “I suggested going into a cemetery and he had told me that he doesn’t go there unless he is seeing his mummy.”

He clasps his hands in his lap. “She had cancer and a rather aggressive one at that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she didn’t suffer for too long.”

He shakes his head. Guilt once again coats his throat like thick molasses. “I had feared that Christmas would resurrect some harsh feelings. It was our first Christmas since she had passed.”

“My mother had passed when I was a wee thing.” She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Children are more resilient than you think.”

He looks up to see her gently smiling down at him. “He’s made his opinion of my cooking rather clear,” he quips.

Hearing the bell behind her, she pats his shoulder and murmurs, “Speaking of food, that’s your order.”

When she leaves, he straightens his back and tries to clear his throat. _What is wrong with me?_ His question baubles around his head as he looks around the empty diner. With most men either sick or on the docks, he has the whole place to himself – for which he is thankful for.

“A nice, hot breakfast, just the way you like it.” Shelagh places the plate onto the table. Checking over her shoulder, she reaches into her apron and pulls out a white envelope. “I wanted to give this back to you, Doctor.”

“I thought we had settled this?”

Shelagh blushes, “It’s the change left over. I was able to catch the bus to take me to and from my destination and I was able to go to a small bakery where I ate my Christmas breakfast.” She places the envelope next to his plate. “Thank you.”

“Do you not have family around here to go to for Christmas?”

She slowly shakes her head. “No. I had to go to work in the upper side of Chelsea. The distance is quite long, however, it pays rather well.” She reaches into her apron again and pulls out two specimen jar. “I was, however, lucky on the mold front. One was from the bus and the other from a faucet. They have been labeled appropriately.”

“Thank you! I’m sure Timothy will be –” Whatever else he was going to say was drowned out by the sound of the little bell above the door chiming with the arrival of a new customer.

“There you are, Doctor Turner.” Sister Evangelina marches up to him. “Ester Truxe has just called and is already screaming about wanting the gas and air.”

He runs his fingers through his unruly hair and sighs, “Very well.” Sliding the envelope back to Shelagh, who he notices has gone as pale as her white apron, he gives her a small smile, “This will have to do.”

Shelagh turns away from the nun. “But it’s far too much.”

“Tip,” he exclaims as he wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“You look familiar.” Sister Evangelina squints her eyes at the young woman next to her. “Are you new here to Poplar?”

Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, “Yes, I am. I moved here not too long ago.”

“I’ve seen you somewhere,” Sister Evangelina shakes her finger, “I’m not sure where, but you do look familiar.”

Sensing the uneasiness from the young waitress, Patrick stands and holds out his hands to follow after the nun, “Shall we, Sister?”  Before turning towards the door, he looks back at Shelagh and smiles, “Have a good day.”

 

* * *

 

Relaxing against the all-too-comfy sofa, Patrick closes his eyes as his exhaustion settles heavily along his shoulders.

Sister Evangelina walks into the parlor. “I’ve talked with Sister Julienne and, until we can find another mode of transportation, the gas and air will stay at the maternity home until further notice.”

As much as he wants to care for the mothers of Poplar, he can’t help but give a big sigh of relief, “Thank you, Sister.” Opening one eye, he can’t help but smile at her no nonsense stance.

“I remember now where I had seen that young woman before.” At his confusion, she adds, “The one in the diner, the waitress.” Waiting for one moment to help build up the suspense, she informs him, “She was a postulant at the mother house about five years ago. She was studying to become a nurse when she had received her calling.”

Curiosity now tickles his mind at what had happened to make her change her mind.

“Her name was Sister Bernadette.”

 

* * *

 

“I have a function coming up that I would like for you to go to with me.” Bernadette glances over her shoulder at James, now her current regular, with a cigarette still caught between his two fingers, sweat still lazily trailing down his bare chest from their physical activities. “The problem is that it falls on a Sunday.”

She turns back to the task of rolling her stocking up her leg. “You know my rules with that.”

“I have already talked to Elizabeth and I am willing to pay double for your time.”

She stops and gives him her full attention. “What time?”

“Evening. It’s a gala to help introduce the new x-ray vans we will be rolling out over the summer.”

“The ones that will help diagnose tuberculosis?”

“The very same,” he smiles brightly. “I want you to be my date for the evening.”

“If Elizabeth has cleared it and I receive the cash up front, I will be there.” _Yet, the idea of possibly seeing one of these vans is too much to pass up! I wonder if Doctor Turner knows – no!_ “Shall I wear panties for the event?” The hunger lighting his eyes helps distract her from her thoughts of a certain doctor.

James smiles devilishly as he moves towards the edge of the bed, “Never, my dear Bernadette.” His finger traces along the tendrils of her garter belt. “I will be paying for the whole night.”

_No wonder Elizabeth was all for it, it’s a high paying night._ Standing up and straddling his legs, she ever-so-gently strokes the tip of his growing cock with her silky panties. “My, my, eager for a repeat performance of our last full night together?”

He wraps his arms around her waist and squeezes her ass. “If I could, I would have you every night, all to myself.”

Bernadette dives in and licks small, swirly patterns along his neck. “Tell me, James, would you rather have me start out the night having you come in my mouth or would you prefer to ride me from behind?”

“Fuck, yes! You naughty little nun.” He shoves her panties to the side and buries two fingers deep inside her. “That story, about you being a nun, is that true?”

“It’s why I take Sundays off,” she rides his hand, thoroughly enjoying the way his thumb runs along her clit. “Confessions and prayers does wonders for the soul.”

“And do you confess all of your sins? Pray hard for my depraved soul?”

She snags the lobe of his ear and moans, “I pray what everybody else prays for; common decency and for the children of our world.”

He pulls his fingers out just as she lines herself over the tip of his cock. “And your confession?”

“That is between me and the person I sin with.” She slams down, taking him in to the hilt. Their moans clash against their lips as tongues battle for dominance.

He sets the fast paced drive of her hips with his palms cupping her ass. “You’re mine, Bernadette,” he buries his nose within the crook of her neck, “all mine.”

She can see the possessiveness that he holds over her miles away, yet, what kind of prostitute would she be if she didn’t take advantage of it.  _A bad one that would be out of a job_. “All yours, my dear,” she nips against the curve of his neck, “I am all yours.” _As long as the price is right._

 

* * *

 

“Oh, bloody hell!” Patrick surveys the rain pouring outside from his stance underneath the awning. A flash of lightning cracks across the sky as the heavy rain crashes against the concrete jungle. Being on call with patients all day has not left him to do anything else, including eating dinner and checking the weather report. _And that was hours ago,_ he silently huffs.

He turns back towards the door, intent on sitting this one out, but with the day’s nonstop action, the thought of sleep has him turning back towards the downpour.

“Hmph!” clashes against someone’s “ow!” and has him reaching out to keep the lady from falling back out in the rain.

“Ugh, thank you. The forecast said nothing – Doctor Turner?”

Patrick, still trying to assess the damage he may have caused, finds himself under a captivating spell of this women’s dress. Even in the low light, the fabric shimmers as the beading accentuates her curves. Yet, as his eyes make their way up her body, a little scrap of lace captures his attention as it sits sharply against the curve of her ample breast.

“Doctor Turner,” the sultry voice snaps his brain back in place.

“I’m so sorry to have – oh!” Embarrassment now colors his cheeks a deep red as he finally looks upon her face. “Ms. Shelagh! I’m, uhhh, I’m sorry, to have, uhh…,” he moves to the side to let her through the door.

“I’m surprised to see you here so late,” Shelagh shakes off the rain drops from her coat before she settles it back over her shoulders. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there! The weatherman had said nothing about rain when I went to work a few hours ago.”

The light from the building shines upon her skin, making it glisten with the slickness of the rain drops sliding down her curves. Patrick grits his teeth as he begs his mind to keep up and to comprehend her words. “Hmm,” is all he is able to produce.

Shelagh blushes underneath his stare. “I heard that the rain is not to let up for a few hours. Do you have to get back to Timothy?”

He looks at her staring back at him expectantly. “Hmm, oh, I’m sorry. Pardon me?”

She crosses her arms along her chest, yet she doesn’t make a move to close her coat. “Do you have to get back to Timothy?”

“No. He’s, uhh, he’s at his friend’s house. This is my usual night for late house calls.” _Good job for saying a complete sentence, you big oaf_ , he mentally scuffs.

“Would you like to come up and wait for the rain to ease a bit?” She gives him a small smile. “I have coffee and,” his refusal is already on the tip of his tongue, “I promise, it will not be an inconvenience.”

Volleying between the heavy rain and the promise of hot coffee, he quickly nods and says, “Hot coffee it is.”

“Good! Follow me,” tying up her coat, she quietly makes her way up the stairs. Once they are in the safety of her lit apartment, she shrugs off her coat and hangs it up next to the door. “Please make yourself at home. I’ll start the coffee?”

“Will the neighbors talk?” he asks her retreating back as he places his own coat next to hers.

“I am the second flat from the stairs. We don’t pass by any of the nosiest ones we have, thank goodness.” She places her french press onto her table, then turns to him. “If you’re not comfortable, I can always let you borrow my umbrella and rain coat.”

“No, no. It’s not a bother.” He places his medical case down and goes to take off his coat. “I just don’t want people talking about you.”

“I could careless what they think.” Turning towards the small sliver of kitchen he can see at her silence, he is mildly surprised when she fiercely adds, “It has taken me a long time to reach that part of my life, but I find great pride in myself for it.” Just as he is about to ask her what she means, she calls out, “Do you mind starting a fire? The rain was rather cool and I had to run through it from the bus stop down at Middleton Street.”

Turning to find where he needs to be, he takes a moment to get a better look at her apartment and finds it to be clean and airy, devoid of clutter. Once he is able to start a fire, he sits back onto the sofa, allowing the hard drive of the drain to fill the silence.

“Here we go,” Shelagh caters out the tray with their filled mugs, “black coffee for the Doctor who looks to be running on pure adrenaline and an obscene amount of sugar and one for me.”

“Thank you so much for both the hospitality and the hot coffee.” He takes a blessed sip of the divine nectar from the gods. “I have to admit, the thought of getting soaked to the bone was not an appealing one. My car is parked further than Middleton Street.”

“Oh dear!”

“It was a beautiful day. I had thought it was going to be a beautiful night.”

“The night is still young.” She takes a small sip. “There’s no reason for it to be completely robbed of its beauty.” Lifting her feet, she tucks them under her. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Pardon?”

“There are a few women in the family way in this building. Which one had their baby?”

“Mrs. Penderton.”

“Her first child. I’ll have to make sure to stop by the haberdashery to pick up a few pins and nappies.” At the lift of his brow, she simply explains, “Her husband helped me when I had moved in.”

He smiles and takes a sip. And another sip. And another. The silence prickles against his cheeks as his heart rate pounds to a faster cadence. “What is it that, uhh, that you do in Chelsea?”

“Waitressing.” Her words slip from her lips before he finishes his question.

His eyes are curiously drawn back to her dress. “A place I would know?”

She gives him a sly smirk, “Not unless you are interested in paying too much for pint of beer.” She bites down on her bottom lip and takes a deep breath. “It’s posh and utterly too expensive for what you get.”

_But I would get to see you in this dress_ , his mind screams, yet, he holds his tongue. “I’m sure it’s nice.”

“It’s a means to an end,” she mutters under her breath. She shakes her head and brightens, “I overheard something that might interest you, though.”

“Really?”

She finishes her coffee to help electrify the anticipation. “Apparently, there will be an x-ray van going around to help diagnose tuberculosis.”

“Really?! I thought it was still in the – wait! I was told that we are still at least six months away from the launch?” He sets down his empty mug onto the table. “Did you hear anything different to the effect of its launch date?”

She shakes her head. “I overheard him talk about the gala. It’s coming up soon, within this month. When is it set to come to Poplar?”

“Last I was told,” he growls, “six months from now. No doubt it has to make its rounds through Mayfair and Chelsea.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll see it before your neighbors.” He looks at her and immediately shakes his head, “I’m sorry. It’s just the people who need it the most will be the last ones to get it.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just because I work there doesn’t mean I side with their aristocratic logic.” She places her hand over his knee. “You should go to them, demand that Poplar should get it first. Go to the papers if you must.”

“Those are good ideas I hope to use, especially with a nun or two to help along.” With the thought of the nuns, a memory turns over and over in his mind. “Sister Evangelina—”

“I was a postulant at the mother house,” she blurts our before he can ask. “I… I… hmmm,” she takes a deep breath, “it’s been a long time and I was a different person then.”

“You don’t have to explain,” he quickly calls to her, her palm burning against his knee, “I was just surprised.”

“Why is that?”

“I have never seen underneath a nun’s habit, but I do know they certainly don’t wear that kind of dress under their scapulars.” His eyes light up and his cheeks blush when she begins to laugh out loud.

“I can see your point, however, I would be remised if I didn’t point out that I bought this dress long after I left the mother house.”

“And the black lace?”

She immediately looks down to see that the hem of her brassiere is showing for him to see. Embarrassment stings her cheeks, yet she coyly murmurs, “Was bought within the first hour I left.” She winks at him before reaching over to pick up their mugs. “Would you like another cup?”

He shakes his head. “No thank you.” He watches her stand and disappear behind the small wall leading into her small kitchen. When she returns, he notices that she has two glass tumblers with her.

“I usually indulge myself with a small nightcap.” She pulls a bottle from a worn cabinet. “Would you like one?” She shows him the bottle. “It’s rather smooth.”

His brow furrows. “Glen Grant? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Apparently it is very expensive.” She rolls her eyes. “It was gift, thank goodness, yet I have to admit, it is smooth from tip to belly.”

“Go ahead then,” he nods towards his glass.

She pours into both of their tumblers until it is about half full. Corking the bottle, she holds up her glass, “Cheers to bumping into you tonight.”

“Cheers to rainy nights,” he clinks before taking a sip.

She slips her feet back under her body as silence once again hangs comfortably between them.

With nothing else to do and his mind devoid of any topics to talk about, he drinks from his glass. One sip. And then another. And then another until he is staring into an empty tumbler.

She holds the bottle and swings it from side to side, silently asking if he wants more.

He knows he shouldn’t but for some reason his body refuses to heed his request. Nodding, he holds out his glass for her to pour the scotch into. That’s when he sees it. He licks his parched lips as the thought of it nearly sends him into a tailspin. “You didn’t fix your dress.” Under any normal circumstances, he would have kept his thoughts to himself, yet with the alcohol already stirring through his system and the residual heat still pressed against his knee from her palm, he reasons that he had no chance.

She shrugs her shoulders as she pours herself another helping. “You already know it’s there. What’s the point in hiding it? Besides,” she coyly bites down on her bottom lip, “I’m sure as a doctor, you know what to find under my dress despite the color or material.”

Wild and untamed excitement runs through his veins at the mere thought of what lies underneath her dress. At that precise moment, he needs to leave if he has any hope of continuing to hold himself to gentlemanly standards. Taking one more sip, he sets down his glass. “I should get going.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable,” she exclaims as he stands up. “I was just joking around. I hope you don’t find me to be improper.”

“It’s not that,” he turns towards the door and reaches for his coat. “I just… You are…,” he twirls around to find that she has come up behind him. His heart pounds against his throat as his mouth dries. He swallows hard past the nerves that have now taken up residence in his larynx. “Just like my son, I, uhh, find you pretty and I, umm, I don’t want you to, umm,” he sighs in resignation.

She blushes a deep crimson red. “Just like your son, I find you to be just as handsome as him.” She crosses her arms along her chest as she looks over her shoulder at the window. “It sounds as if the rain has let up. Do you need an umbrella?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be able to make it to my car. Thank you, though, for everything.”

Just before his hand reaches the knob, she asks, “Will I see you at the diner tomorrow?”

He gives her a small smile, “Same time. I wouldn’t miss it.” Quietly pulling open the door, he sets off down the stairs. It isn’t until the cold rain patters onto his head that he takes a breath. Turning towards the window that still has a light on, he imagines that it is hers. _She is quite beautiful. I hope I didn’t muddle things up._ Tightening his grip around his bag, he once again swallows past the lump of nerves before continuing down the street towards his car.


	3. Chapter 3

“Good morning Doctor Turner.” Her bright voice sends a wide smile across his cheeks.

“Good morning, Ms. Shelagh.” He spies around the restaurant to find it nearly empty with the exception of two men who are almost done scarfing down their food. “The usual for me please.”

She gives him a kind smile. “I already put the order in for you when I saw you walking down the street.” She looks over her shoulder at the two work men before asking, “And where is Timothy?”

“He’s at school early to set up his science project,” _that she helped him make_ , he silently adds with a twinkle in his eyes. Ever since their shared drinks in her flat, they have been skirting this flirty dance of small touches and intimate conversations. _Nothing too untoward. Just us getting to know one another through silly questions and off-handed jokes_.

“I can’t wait to see it!” Her small smile brightens. “He has worked so hard on it. Excuse me,” she murmurs when she hears one of the men calling for her.

Nodding, he opens his newspaper to hide the fact that he’s still watching. He likes her, finds her to be funny, and kind, and great with Timothy. _Today has to be the day_ , he reminds himself. He found his invitation to the gala kicking off the x-ray van underneath a stack of mail. Immediately sending out his RSVP, he had hastily written down a plus one and, before losing his nerve, he sent it off with the mail. _Now all I have to do is ask her._

The bell from above the door chimes with the men leaving the diner. “Here you go, one omelette with a side of toast.” Glancing over her shoulder to see that the cook had slipped up stairs for a smoke break, she sits down in the chair next to him. “I have already requested off the time for Timothy’s science fair day.”

He folds his paper and sets it down next to him. “He’s going to be excited that you are coming.” He cuts into his omelet, but doesn’t eat. “Umm,” he clears his throat, “I have a special dinner I’m going to on Sunday.” He shoves his food along his plate as he clears his throat again. “Would you, umm, I’m mean, I would like for you to come with me.” He phrases each word separately and he feels like a complete fool after all the words were said.

Her face crumples, “I’m sorry. I have to work that night.”

Feeling as if he was punched in the gut with a hammer, he shakes his head. His food, no longer appetizing, is pushed off to the side. “It’s no worry.”

“I just…,” she bites down on her lip, “I don’t usually work on Sunday, but they are paying extra and…,” she places her hand of his knuckles, “any other Sunday I would have said yes.”

He smiles a smile that is far from reaching his eyes. “Just the luck of the draw I guess.” _Chin up, Turner. No use wallowing in self pity. It’s not the first time you were rejected._

“How about I make it up with a picnic for the three of us the following Sunday?”

The colors around him brighten back to their normal shade, “That sounds splendid. Timothy will really enjoy that.” He pulls out his thumb and cover the back of her hand with it. “I’ll make sure to have another locum on call on that day.”

“Sounds like a date,” she quietly exclaims as she squeezes his hand. “And I promise to wear something more comfortable than that beaded dress.”

Light pink hues brush along his cheeks at the thought of that dress and what was laying underneath it. _I hope the black lace stays._

With the sound of men’s laughter sounding off from outside, she pulls her hand away and stands just before they come in. “I’ll get you some more coffee, Doctor Turner.” She gives him a small wink before turning towards her regular customers.

 

* * *

 

“Ahh, Patrick, what a surprise seeing you here!”

Patrick turns around from the bar and gives his friend a big smile. “James, my friend, it has been a long time at that.” He holds out his free hand and both men shake.

“At least since Grace’s funeral,” a dark shadow passes over his face before he adds under his breath, “and before that it was the war – France I believe.”

“Yes,” Patrick balances on the balls of his feet as he shoves his hand in his pocket. Him and James McDaniel have known each other since serving together in basic and then the war. Fortunately, they had remained in written contact with each other.

“How has life been?” James cups his shoulder, silently pulling him to a quiet corner in the ballroom. “I’m sorry to have heard about Mariann. By the amount of people that had come to her funeral, I could tell that she was well loved in the community.”

Patrick glances up from his full tumbler, shock on every inch of his face. “Why didn’t you tell me you were there?”

“I tried, my friend, but a nun, the hefty one, was playing defense and would only allow a certain number of people through.” He nervously plays with his own glass of whiskey, “I thought about writing, but I didn’t know what to say.” A sad sort of laugh tumbles out from between his lips, “Isn’t that sad? I had gone through the same experience of a loss of a wife and I couldn’t think of one damn word to say other than ‘I’m sorry’.”

Patrick finally takes a sip of his scotch. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I would have even remembered. Those were dark days, darker than the ones from the war. My only light being Timothy, I had only concentrated on making sure he was well taken care of.”

James looks to his friend and smiles, “Come. Let’s talk about other things.” He points towards the door, “Were you able to see the newest addition?”

“That was the first thing I saw and I have to say, she’s a beauty.” Patrick nervously runs his thumb along the glass. “When will the roll out date be?”

“Eager to get it to your part of the neighborhood, ehh Patrick?” James slyly smiles at him before he playfully ribs him in the arm.

“I just want to make sure that the ones that need it the most are going to be able to see it first.”

“As they should, however, it is not up to me.”

“Not up to you!” Patrick reminds himself to keep his voice down. “But you are on the board of the National Health committee! How is it not up to you?”

“Because it was given its own committee. A man named Quine is heading it up.”

“That is surprising to hear. After Grace’s death, you had put all of your energy into your work. I had assumed you would have taken over the leadership like all the other committees.” Knowing James for as long as he had, Patrick bites down on his bottom lip when a small smirk forms on his friend’s face. “You’re not telling me something.”

“Between me and you,” James pulls him so close to the wall, that they are literally melting into it, “I found someone.”

“Really?” Patrick checks to keep his voice low. “Wow, I’m, uhh, I’m happy for you.” Visions of Shelagh helping Timothy and laughing at one of his stupid jokes gracefully waltzes into his mind. “I, uhh, I might have found someone as well, but I don’t know.”

“What’s not to know?”

Patrick shrugs his shoulders, embarrassment at his lack of knowledge seeping in through the red of his cheeks.

James lifts one brow in mirth. “Have you shagged her yet?”

“No! I haven’t!” Patrick scrunches his nose in distaste. “Wait!” _James never had a good poker face and he was rather a playboy during the downtimes of the war_. “Are you?”

“That’s how we met.”

“James,” he sighs under his breath, “no, please tell me that you’re not seeing a…,” he looks both ways to check that they are devoid of anyone around them, “a prostitute?”

“It started out as a gag. A few of the other board members dabbles in the higher quality establishments and, one night, Charles Saunters had set me up with the company that he uses.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, “Charles Saunters is a dog.”

James shrugs his shoulders, “Regardless, the transaction was already made. I had met up with a woman they had nicknamed ‘The Nun’ and, let me tell you Patrick ol’ boy, it was the best night of my life!”

“‘The nun’?”

“Believe me young sir, she had me thanking God within five minutes. She is feisty and sexy as hell. And,” James quickly looks both ways, “she put her mouth on me and liked it.”

For a quick moment, Patrick was actually rather impressed. Though he had loved his wife with all of his heart – on some days he still does – she had never put her mouth on him before. _Yet, in her defense, I never asked her to._ “But she is still a prostitute. You pay her to do those things to you.”

“Listen, she isn’t a Cable Street girl. I know that I am paying her, but it’s better than going home to a lonely bed every night.”

“And what if the Chairman finds out or the press? You’ll be fired so quick your head will spin.”

“The Chairman has the same arrangement as with about half of the board members. And as for the press,” James steps closer to Patrick, “with no wife or children to cause grievances, all I have to do is to be smart about it.”

“Sage advice for anything.”

“Patrick,” James sighs. “Why don’t I put your name into the establishment?”

“No! No, no, no!” Patrick wildly shakes his arms.

“Come on! No one will know. They are very discrete.”

“I work with nuns!” Patrick vehemently shakes his head at the mere thought of Sister Evangelina learning about this. “If they were to ever find out—”

“But they won’t!” James places his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and point out into the dense crowd. “I brought mine here tonight. You wouldn’t have even known if we didn’t have this conversation. That is what they are trained to do. They blend in with their surroundings.”

“And would they blend in so well along the streets of Poplar?” At James’ questioning brow, Patrick shakes his head again. “No, I don’t want this. Besides, I really like this woman. Tim has already met her and is over the moon with her. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Well then at least meet her! She is absolutely charming and if she won’t convince you to partake in their service then no one will.”

“Why?” Patrick rolls his eyes. “Is she trained to go down on every Tom, Dick, and Harry that shows interest in their service?”

“Hey!” James claws into Patrick’s shoulder and pushes him back against the wall. “Don’t say that about her. I would like for you to meet her, but if you’re going to be a sourpuss about it, then I won’t.”

While him and James had played around before – especially in the army – never once had he pushed him out of anger. “Fine, fine,” he holds out his hand, “why don’t you go get her and I’ll get our drinks refilled.” When the glass is not given to him, Patrick looks up and quietly says, “I will not judge her or treat her cruelly. You have my promise.”

James loosens his grip and claps Patrick on his back. “If anything, you’ll find her just as charming as I do.” And with a wink, he leaves the sanctity of their small corner in search of his date.

Rolling his eyes, Patrick sighs as he makes his way to the bar. “One scotch and one whiskey, both on the rocks, please.” While the bartender makes the drinks, Patrick glances over his shoulder. With James nowhere in sight, he turns back towards the counter.

_Out of all the things James could have gotten himself into,_ Patrick chews on his bottom lip. _Although, he has a knack for getting himself into trouble all for the sake of a good time. He always said that Grace made a good man out of him, but now that she’s been gone for nearly ten years…_

“Patrick,” James calls from behind him, “I would love for you to meet Bernadette.”

For a second, just barely that, her name, Bernadette, stirs something within in his memory and it pierces against his skull. Yet, with the weight of their expectant stares drilling into the back of his neck, he casts his nagging memory off to the side before turning around with the drinks in his hands.

 

* * *

 

“Had something like this ever been done before?”

One of the men in their small group nods, “These x-ray vans had actually began during the First World War with none other than Marie Curie at the helm. They were stationed at the front lines to quickly diagnose wounded soldiers.”

“They were used during the second war as well and were damn useful,” an older man calls out.

Shelagh then asks, “Has this kind of machine been available to the public?”

“Not with the help of finding tuberculosis.” A man, younger than most of the men in the room, answers with a smug smile. “Could you imagine the amount of lives saved with this machine?”

Shelagh really tries hard to not roll her eyes at the young man’s big head. “Hopefully it’ll save even more lives if it is used in the areas that are in need of it the most.”

A woman, with a haughty nose, takes a puff from her cigarette. “How do you mean?”

Shelagh has been trained on etiquette, yet the amount of arrogance surrounding nearly has her losing her cool veneer. “I mean in areas where the population is dense, despite the number of rooms being offered.” When confusion passes on more faces, she answers for them, “The East End is riddled with people in need of such treatment.”

The same woman with the cigarette shudders, “Ugh, if those people go through that van, then I will never step foot in it, despite my husband’s hard work on the project.”

Shelagh digs her finger nails into her palm to keep from putting the woman where she belongs the most – _in her own place_. “But it was originally funded through the National Health, the same organization who serves the majority of the East End. Why shouldn’t it go to them first?”

“Because those people are nothing but filth and deserves everything that is given to them.” Her statement – bold and cruel – hangs in the thickening air.

Shelagh, who is internally seething from head to toe, strengthens her grip along her glass. “I dare ask, but are you including babies and children into that statement as well?”

The disdainful woman scrunches her nose in Shelagh’s direction before taking another puff from her cigarette. “Of course not, but they are also born in the same squalor as their parents and will most likely learn to live off the government in the process.” She takes another puff. “They take our hard earned money and either choose not to work or will spend their money on frivolous things such as gambling, alcohol, or prostitution.”

“Although every community certainly has its bad eggs, I can assure you that there are more families trying to provide the best for their children than those who wish to live off of the government.” Not wanting to receive more attention than needed, Shelagh lowers her voice, “Dr. Branna, thank you for your insightful information. Excuse me.” And with that she bows out from that small group.

Shelagh knows that she should have not spoken out like she had, yet, she finds that she doesn’t care. _The people of Poplar deserve better_. The image of Doctor Turner immediately comes to mind and, while her date for the evening is not around, she allows the memory of his hand touching her to fill her with joy and happiness.

Bypassing the dance floor, she makes her way towards the veranda.

Just the simple thought of Doctor Turner sends her heart racing, yet, she fights against it. While the idea of them taking their relationship a tad bit further excites her to no end, that would mean that she would have to come clean with her ‘waitressing’ job.

No one forced her into this line of work, _I came willingly_. With her father’s rising medical costs, she knew she would never be able to pay with a waitressing job alone. _I am an educated, eloquent woman with an interesting backstory of wanting to become a nun. I am what Elizabeth calls ‘prime gold’ in this business of setting up men with ‘girlfriends’._

And, while the money has been good, she knows that this job will only last for a few more years, at best. _Yet, with… with – my goodness, I don’t even know his first name! — with Doctor Turner, there can be so much more to life than transactions and blowjobs._

The memory of all three of them in the kitchen pouring over a science project permeates her mind. _A family, a real family. One without the heartbreak of war or the stinging backhand of abuse._

Shelagh leans against the stone railing as she looks towards the bright moon for an answer.

_But how will he receive the news?_ _He is a traditional man, through and through._ _To find out that I am a whore, and a willing one to boot, will be a lot for him to take in. He will most likely react the same way any other person would – with utter disgust._ Circling her pointer finger and thumb together, she hopes and prays that he will not see her that way. _For him to look at me like some common whore would be_ —

“There you are!”

Turning around to the familiar voice, Shelagh puts on her composed face. “I just needed some air. It’s been quite nice out this past week.”

“I also heard that you put Lady High and Mighty in her place.” He gently smiles as he places his arm around her shoulder. “She needed it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m usually patient with people like her, but she had said some truly horrible things and I couldn’t help but to respond in kind.” Her chin falls to her chest in embarrassment.

“No worries, my dear,” his hand slides down to the small of her back, “besides, I have someone who I would like for you to meet.” He pulls her into the crowded ballroom. “He is an old buddy of mine from the war.” He leans into her ear and whispers, “I’m trying to convince him to take on the services of your establishment, but he claims he has developed feelings for a woman in his district.”

_Hmmm, maybe another regular to add to my Rolodex._ Straightening her back, she gives him a wink and murmurs, “I’ll give him my best.” As they quickly travel through the throngs of people, Shelagh tries to gather her wits. “What’s his name?”

He motions to the man at the bar. “Patrick,” he calls out to him when we have stopped right behind him, “I would love for you to meet Bernadette.”

Her first impression of just seeing his back has excitement flooding through her. _He looks to be extremely handsome and not too old._ Yet, for one moment, tiny in comparison to others, something about him seems familiar to her, like she has seen him before. Just as he turns around, she thrusts out her hand to greet him, “Patrick, it is very nice…,” No _! No, no, no, no, no, no! This can’t be happening! This can’t be him!_ “… to, uhh, meet you.” Her words finish barely above a whisper.

The moment their eyes meet, realization slowly sweeps across his brow and has all the color draining from his face. He immediately glances towards James, “You have got to be…,” he shakes his head as he looks towards the ceiling for divine intervention. “Is this a joke, James?”

“What are you talking about? This is Bernadette, the one… I… told…,” he stops and volleys between them as an electrical charge crackles against the dense air between all three of them. “Do you know each other?”

With Doctor Turner looking as if he is still unable to look at her, Shelagh, neigh Bernadette, fills in for him, “During the day, I work as a waitress at a small diner close to his surgery center.”

“Waitress?” That one singular word, muddled with confusion and anger, is successful at bringing all the flushing colors back to his cheeks.

“We see each other often enough.” She has yet to look at him square in the eyes. Too ashamed – _No! More like too scared to see what he is really thinking_.

“Oh,” realization finally falling on James’ head, “he didn’t know about your job?” When Shelagh shakes her head, James glances over to Doctor Turner. “I’m sorry, ol’ boy. I assumed you wouldn’t have known her.”

Brushing up the courage to finally look at him, Doctor Turner stares at her for as long as decorum would allow before answering, “Your assumption would normally be correct if it wasn’t for the diner I go to every so often.” The coolness of his eyes chills her to the bones, as if he is looking straight through her, instead of at her. “Though, I have gotten to know this young woman through small talk, I have to admit, I would have never thought that she would be in this line of work.” He turns back to James, “An assumption that has quickly been fixed.”

“Doctor Turner…,” Shelagh calls out his name, yet nothing comes to mind as to what she needs to say, at least not in front of the influential group of the medical community.

“Thank you James for extending the invitation to this launch party. I hope that you will keep my district in mind when contingency maps are drawn up.” He nods to both of them, “Good night.” 

Biting down on the side of her tongue to keep herself from calling out to him or, worse, running after him, she watches him go with a deflating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The night is not over - not by a long shot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS NOTE BEFORE THIS CHAPTER!
> 
> This chapter will have sexual violence in it. While I never condone such horrible acts, it was very prevalent during this time period for a prostitute. If it is something you do not want to read, then there is a section that you can skip within this chapter without missing the rest of the story. I will mark the section with an asterisk (*) so that you know which part to skip. 
> 
> Thank you for all of the support you have shown! It brightens my day when I see e-mail notifications pop up! :)

At first, he thought nothing of it. The moments following their meeting had seemed awkward, yes, but James had known Patrick to be awkward around women in general ever since they had known each other during basic training. _Quite frankly,_ he drowns the rest of his drink, _he seemed more squeamish around the nurses than the guns._

However, since letting the dust settle from the disastrous meeting, he had notice that Bernadette had looked pale, positively ghostly. For one tiny moment, he thought he saw fire running through her eyes when Patrick had walked away, as if she was going to chase him down, but then it quickly fizzled out, leaving an empty shell in its wake.

Yet, now, at this precise moment as he watches her runs her fingers through Patrick’s hair, James is sure, _damn sure_ , that the fire has returned back to her crystal blue eyes.

She had originally told him to make his way to their room for the night while she made a phone call to Liz but he had stayed in the lobby, unsure if she was going to stay with him.

_But it’s obvious now, I’m not the man she wants to stay with!_

Leaving his empty glass on a table, he walks out of the lobby towards the lifts. _What the hell does he have that I don’t have?_ _He’s a bumbling idiot, never knew a good time even if it smacked him right in the face._

He paces the elevator floor.

_He has her far more I ever have. How is it possible?_

Stopping his movement when the lift reaches his floor, he stalks out and heads straight for the room he had bought for the night. _The room I had bought for us. She is mine, damn it!_ He throws his keys clear across the room and slams the door.

Blindly grabbing the bottle of Glen Grant, the same kind he had bought for her after their first night together, he pours a heaping amount to help drown the seed of betrayal that has settled in his throat.

_She fucked him._

_Yeah, that must be it. Patrick, being the gullible fool that he is, most likely didn’t know that he was fucking a whore. The lying bitch._

He swallows down his liquid courage almost in one gulp. _First she lies to me, telling me that I was her only one, then she lies to Patrick._

_I won’t stand for it._ Standing from the bed, he loosens his tie and throws it somewhere towards the key. Shoving his jacket down, he pours himself another drink and settles back onto the bed. As silence reigns against the bland walls of the hotel room, rage pulses through his veins at her deceit towards him and his friend.

“James.” He lifts his head as her voice wrecks chaos against the pounding of his head. “James?”

_I’ll make the bitch pay._ He swallows down the rest of the scotch just as he notices that the fire in her eyes has settled into a warmth that looks all-to-gentle. _Loving._

His grip tightens around the glass as realization brightens his clouded judgement. _She is in love with him as he is with her._

 

* * *

 

He was going to leave, every step he took begging him to take him away, to go to the one place Patrick knew he felt safe. Yet the rain – _the bloody rain!_ – kept him at bay in a warm bar towards the front of the posh hotel. _To hell with place._

Through the window, he saw a few people from the gala climbing into their cars with the help of the valet. Trying to save himself a bit of money, he had parked himself down the street. At the sound of a woman’s playful shriek, he looks through the hazy cigarette smoke to see that it is someone else, someone he swears he is trying not to find. _To hell with these people._

Burning the filter all the way down, he buries his cigarette into the ashtray, where his others ones sit like little dying petals from a flower. Swallowing his scotch down in one gulp, he instantly raises his glass to signal for another one.

“That is your sixth one, sir,” the bartender, so young, with a full life ahead of him, looks to Patrick with pity melting in his eyes.

A surge of anger courses through his veins, yet it dies out as quickly as it began. “Just one more, young man, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The bartender nods before filling the order. Glancing around the dark room, Patrick notes that most of the people that had come in for a nightcap have already left. The only ones who have remained is a man who is slumped at the end of the bar and a couple exchanging both heated words mixed with equally heated kisses.

“I’ll call a taxi for you while you finish,” the bartender murmurs.

Too drunk to even argue back, Patrick just nods and savors his his last drink for the night. _The events of the night would have turned out a lot different if_ … The image of her face lazily floats in his mind, enticing him, yet taunting him at the same time.

_I’m glad I found out that she is a… that she…_

He takes a small sip to keep his mind from saying the offensive word. _Well, I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself_.

Taking another sip, he reaches inside his breast pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes. Digging his fingers through, he growls when he only finds one more left. Dragging it out, he lights it with his lighter and savors the spicy aroma onto his tongue. _I am already a fool._ He rolls his thumb and middle finger together as he stares out of the rain streaked window. _I’m in love with her. I’m in love with a woman who is… who sells her body to other men._

“I’m so sorry.”

Her voice, barely above a whisper, plows through his mind, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Days ago, hours even, the sound of her voice would be like a lullaby to his heart. Now, all he feels is the tip of a knife — painful and raw to the touch. “For what?”

“For lying to you. If it’s any consolation, I—”

“I don’t need your damn pity!” White, hot anger sears through him, yet, just like the last time, it dies out quickly.

After a moment, she quietly says, “I was going to tell you.”

Quickly turning around in his stool, he fiercely grips the bar to keep himself from falling over. Noticing that the couple had left, Patrick shrugs his shoulders as mutters, “You wanted to entice me to buy into your establishment?”

She hangs her head, “No.”

“Do you want me to buy you? To pay for you to spend time with me, to spend time with my son?” He was hurting, but nothing amplified it more than downing the rest of his eighth scotch of the night.

“I never want you to pay for me,” her soft voice shakes from the emotions starting to slide down her cheek. “It brightened my day considerably when I got to spend time with you and Timothy.” She wipes away her tears with the back of her finger. “I’m not going to pretend that you still want to be friends, but before I leave, I wanted to apologize if I had hurt you in any way.”

Patrick remains quiet, his own emotions too fragile to make any sudden thoughts or movements.

At his silence, she confesses, “You came as a surprise to me. I never thought that I would meet someone as kind or as gentle as you. As a woman in my field, that is a rare thing to see.” Taking a deep breath, she murmurs, “Good bye, Patrick Turner.”

“I don’t want you to sleep with him,” are the words that tumble out of his mouth just as she turns away from him. Since sitting in this bar, he was content to never look at her again. Not now. Not ever. Not with the prospect of never seeing her again. “Please.”

She takes a shuddering breath. “He has already paid for the evening. The transaction is complete.”

Reaching out, he captures her wrist, “I’ll pay double.”

“I never want you to pay for me.” As the bartender comes back in from the lobby, she quietly asks, “Did you call a cab for him?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do I need to call one for you?”

“No thank you.” Turning back to the man in front of her, she covers his hand still gripped around her wrist and murmurs, “Perhaps this is just a ‘good night’?”

“I would rather this be a ‘yes I will come back to Poplar with you’ night.” He pulls her closer and lays his other hand on her hip. “Please don’t go with him.” Vulnerability coats his tongue as he prays with every inch of his soul that she will not go back to James.

“I’m sorry, Patrick.” She lifts her hand and runs her fingers through his unruly hair.

He closes his eyes, enjoying their first touch that they are sharing, despite everything that has been discovered tonight. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Normal place, normal time with a hot cup of black coffee and your favorite breakfast ready to go.” She sweeps her thumb along his forehead. “I have to get going.”

He pulls down on her free hand and kisses both of her wrists. “Have dinner with me tomorrow. I want us to talk, just talk.”

“Your cab is here, sir,” one of the valets from outside quietly calls from behind Shelagh.

Reaching for his wallet, Patrick gives the bartender a few bills and, with a nod to show that he is clear of his charge, he grabs Shelagh’s hand to walk out together. Before reaching the front, he leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. With decorum and propriety back in its place, he let’s go of her hand and steps back. “Good night, Shelagh.”

“Yes,” she calls out to him, “we can have dinner tomorrow.”

A smile stretches along his cheeks, it’s boyish lines reaching his eyes. With as much grace as he can muster under the heaviness of the alcohol sitting in his belly, he waves goodbye just before he walks out the door.

 

* * *

********

The tingling sensation from his kiss still sizzles on her cheek long after he had gotten into the taxi to go home. For minutes – _hours it seems like_ – she just stands there, mesmerized at what his one touch can do to the deepest recesses of her soul.

For so long, she had only known a men’s touch to be either harsh from alcohol flowing through their systems or to be invasive, seeking out the pleasures her body would give them. And as a meek woman, raised by the cruel backhand of her father, she had fell into the trap of being only worth what men were willing to pay.

_But not now. Not with Patrick._

_He wants to meet with me, to give me a chance when I should have not received one in the first place._

Turning away from the door as the chime from the clock brings her out of her thoughts, she makes her way to the lift. She hesitates before getting in, something not sitting right with her. _James._ Despite the uncertainty rolling along her stomach, she presses the number eleven.

_I thought for sure that James would instantly become jealous. In our past meetings, he has shown a possessiveness that has the potential to become dangerous, maybe violent. Yet, he was always able to reel it back from tipping over the edge._

Shelagh walks out of the lift and steers towards room 119. _I was certain that the appearance of Patrick, though certainly not planned, would spell doom immediately, but he had remained calm, almost delirious of all that was unfolding in front of his eyes._

_Though not so dubious on my part, I would rather keep these parts of my life as separate as possible._

Pulling the key from her purse, she opens the door and calls out, “James.” When he doesn’t call back to her, she steps further into the dimly lit room to see him sitting on the bed. “James?”

He swallows down the rest of his drink. “He was talking about you.”

“Pardon?”

“Patrick, before I went to get you, he had mentioned that he had liked this woman. It was you he was talking about, wasn’t it?”

“James, we don’t have to—”

“Answer my fucking question,” he bellows out. “It’s simple enough; it’s either a yes or a no.”

She can try to lie her way out of this conversation, however with the unknown amount of alcohol dictating his actions rather than his logical mind, she can’t chance it – not if she wants to get out of here unscathed. “Yes, he was talking about me, however, I didn’t know that he was your friend.”

His fists tense against his legs, “Did you fuck him?”

“No.”

“Did you suck him off? Did he pay for you?”

“No. None of those things happened.”

He looks up at her, teeth grinding in undiluted fury as her words do nothing to quell his anger, “You are mine.”

Taking a deep, steady breath, already she knows that this night is not going to end well. In her four short years of working this job, she had seen this type of possessiveness in men numerous times. It’s her job to make them feel as if they are the only one. Some, unfortunately, take that closer to heart than others.

_If I am to escape this room alive, then I have to make sure I play my cards right._ “I am yours.”

“You are to never see him again.” He stands and stalks his way to her. “You are mine, do you understand.” The lilt in his voice is forced, his anger seeping out from the edges as if it is about to break its dam.

_‘Escalation. Possessiveness. Anger. Bruises are inevitable by this point. Relax your muscles, Shelagh. Give him what he wants and leave. And under no circumstances can you leave a mark on his body.’_ Those words said to her a long time ago by Elizabeth reverberates through her mind as she watches James’ fury pounding against his throat. “I am yours,” she softly murmurs.

WHACK! His back hand flies out of nowhere and catches her cheek.

Expecting this, she is able to catch herself before falling to the floor. ' _Don’t beg. Don’t say anything. After hitting you or fucking you they will tire easily.'_  Stumbling back until half of her body is hidden in the shadows, she throws her purse towards the door. ' _Have a game plan as to where you can easily pick up your purse to go. If you happen to drop it, kick to somewhere that is safe.'_

“Get on your knees,” he demands from his perch.

Her head is pounding, yet she falls down to her knees in front of him without hesitation.

“Say it,” he snarls.

She looks down, a sign of faith on her part to showcase her weakness, and murmurs, “I’m yours.”

“Look at me and say it to my face.”

She looks up but not directly into his eyes and loudly says, “I’m yours.”

WHACK! Another smack to the face sends her tumbling to the ground.

“You made me believe that I was special, that I was the only one,” he bends down and lifts her up by her hair, “and it turns out, that you are fucking around with my friend.” He slaps her with the palm of his hand. “You should know better than to deceive me, to deceive both of us,” he strikes her again, “you filthy whore.”

Letting her fall to the floor, he stands and makes his way to the purse she threw towards the door. Opening it up, he takes his money that he had given her at the beginning of the night and stuffs it in his pockets. Without a single word, he marches back to Shelagh and pulls her up by her wrists. “Let this be your punishment for thinking that you could get away with your scheme.”

Feeling the cushion of the bed break her fall back down, the clank of metal from his belt sets her teeth on edge. ' _T_ _hese men, they feel as if they are entitled to your body. Relax your muscles as best as you can, my dear darling girl. Once you hear the catch of his belt, rape is inevitable.'_  His rough hands turns her onto her back just before he shoves her dress over her hips. ' _Don’t say or do anything by this point unless directed to. He has the power and your survival is the only thing you need to think about.'_

Without any other words, he plows into her, keeping grip on her wrists pinned above her head.

Closing her eyes to the intrusive pain, she wills her mind to picture something tranquil and peaceful. _Not Patrick, not with something like this._ Instead she thinks of the seaside with her brothers, before the war, before the death of her mother, before she knew that pain was more than just a skinned knee.

“You fucking whore,” he thrusts in her, sweat dripping down his temples. “You’re my whore.”

Biting down hard onto her bottom lip to keep from screaming out, she forces herself to grit her teeth. ' _Above all else, and this is the hardest thing you will ever do, yet it’s the most important, stay calm. Your first reaction is to scream, kick, hit, or punch, but that will only cause more violence as well as a police report.'_  Staring at the ceiling, she counts the tiles as she once again imagines the waves crashing against the rocky beach.

“Yes! Yes!” He relentlessly pounds into her.

Tilting her head to the side, her tears silently falls and bleeds into the sheets.

Tightening his grip further, he wildly thrust deep inside her before he reaches his peak. Pulling out of her, he pushes her down to one side of the bed and climbs in next to her. Throwing his arm around her waist, he snuggles against the pillow and sleepily murmurs, “Your mine.”

_'Most likely after such violence, they will tire or leave quickly. Once you have the chance, run.'_ Relaxing her muscles to help lull him to sleep, she waits until his arm falls listlessly to the side until she decides to make her move. Slowly, so as not create any disturbance, she eases off of the bed. Gathering her shoes and her purse, she slips out of the door.

Glancing down the hall both ways, she darts down towards the stairs. She knows she’s going to have to run down a few flights, but it’s better to not have any witnesses to see her in this state. Once she is out in the alley, she darts through the shadows between buildings until she sees a telephone box.

All it takes is two rings. “Marxcell residence.”

“It’s Shelagh. I need to come over immediately.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes, but I can walk. I’m seven blocks north.”

“Very well. You know the drill.”

Hearing the click from the receiver, Shelagh hangs up and makes her way to the house through the shadows once again. It is a cool night, the rain and the late hour thankfully driving most people into their homes. Her tears, which had since dried the moment he fell asleep, threatens to break, but she stubbornly refuses it. _He’s taken my dignity, abused me, raped me. I’ll be damned if I give him any of my tears. They are all I have left._

Viewing the grand home with its white picket fence, Shelagh sneaks down the drive way towards the side entrance. Picking up the key under the third rock from the yellow pot, she lets herself in.

Knowing the layout by heart, she veers down the hallway until she sees the light under the office with no windows. Just before she reaches for the handle, the door opens to an older woman in a red plaid robe.

“Come in, my dear,” Elizabeth opens her arms and Shelagh graciously falls into them. Ushering her to the small sofa, she patiently waits until the tears have subsided before saying, “Start from the beginning.” Gathering the ice pack from behind her, she gives it to Shelagh to place over her cheek.

Out of the many times she has come to Elizabeth under these same conditions, Shelagh had always been able to tell the story like they were facts being read from an encyclopedia. _Yet this time, it’s different_. “I honestly don’t know where to begin.”

“Start from the beginning where you think it all changed.”

So she started from the day she met Doctor Turner and told her everything that had happened between them since. She left nothing out. She knows she will get in trouble, but, if there is one thing she had taken away from her time at the mother house, is that omitting the truth is just as bad as lying and it will get you nowhere.

By the end of it all, Elizabeth already has her notebook out and is actively taking note. “My only question is how did it escalate so fast without you there?” After a moment of looking over her notes, she asks, “You said that you visited Patrick in the bar before going up to meet him?”

“Yes. I told James that I needed to make the phone call to you before going up. When I left for the phone, I thought he had left to go towards the lift.”

“Was he angry then?”

Shelagh thought back to that moment, “No, he seemed more confused than anything.”

“And after calling me, you were on your way to the lift when you saw Patrick at the bar?” Shelagh nods. “Do you think he saw you in the bar with Patrick?”

Again, she thinks about all that happened and what was said in the bar. “My back was towards the entrance, so, I am unsure.”

“And during your conversation, you touched each other?”

“Yes, he had one hand on my wrist and I had one hand resting on his head. There were no obvious displays of affection until the very end when we were in the lobby and he kissed my cheek.” At Elizabeth’s disappointed sigh of her name, Shelagh bows her head and murmurs, “I know, but I wasn’t expecting it. He is a proper gentleman; he had never shown displays of affection before.”

“Despite his etiquette or propriety, you know my rules with relationships?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elizabeth covers Shelagh’s hand with her own. “You need to cut your ties now if you are to continue working with me.”

Shelagh swallows past her heartbreak, “I know.”

Elizabeth reaches out and lifts her chin with the tip of her finger. “Think real hard about what you want after this, but also keep in mind that you owe me for a tonight’s lost wage before I can let you go.”

“I understand.” Luckily with her previous friendship with Elizabeth before she came to work in her service, she can easily leave if she chooses to.

“You’ve got to be certain. I will not allow you back in after this.” Elizabeth sweeps her thumb along her jaw. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up. Sleep here tonight and tomorrow you can go back home.”

“Thank you Liz.” Both women stand and make their way up the stairs to the bathroom.

********

 

* * *

 

“You’ll never guess at who I had seen when I did my check up screening with Penderton baby?” Sister Evangelina takes a sip of her tea as Sister Julienne enquirers with the curious arch of her brow. “Remember that I told you about that postulant working as a waitress in the diner?”

“The one that Doctor Turner is sweet to?”

She rolls her wrist through the air, “The same. Well, just as I got there, I saw Sister Bernadette come out of her apartment with another woman.” At Sister Julienne’s furrowed brow, she quickly adds, “She had bruises all over her face.”

“Oh dear!” Sister Julienne tenses and straightens her back in rapt attention. “Did you go to visit her?”

“Of course I did, however, I only made it to the door.” Sister Evangelina shakes her head, “I think she’s still feeling guilty for leaving the order. She had mentioned something about her needing to pull herself together on her own.”

“That poor woman.” Sister Julienne takes a sip of her tea. “Was she able to tell you who did that to her?”

Sister Evangelina shakes her head, “No. She was rather tight lipped about it.”

“Who do you think should go to her? Perhaps one of the nurses.”

Sister Evangelina ponders with that question for a moment before answering, “The Doctor is still rather sweet with her. Maybe she’ll open up to him rather than to a stranger?”

“Very well,” Sister Julienne murmurs, “but go about it gently. The last thing we need is for the doctor to do something foolish.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Lord._ Patrick steps out of his car and stares up at the modest building. _Give me the strength to go to her with an open mind and an open heart._

He pulls his bag out before slamming the door shut. _I hurt her from before, I had said somethings that were not as loving as the love I have in my heart._

He walks into the quiet building and up the stairs. _She had forgiven me, despite my cruelty, but I ask that you give me the serenity to face her in her state of despair._

Just before he knocks on the door, he pauses midair and finishes his prayer. _Lord, give me the strength of will to listen to all of her words, even if I have already made assumptions. Yet, if my assumptions are correct, then forgive me as I beat that piece of shit into the ground._

He knocks. _Amen._

When no one answers, he knocks again. And again. And again.

He is about to turn away when a voice calls out from the other side, “Who is it?”

He switches his bag from one hand to the other. “Doctor Turner.” At the silence, he leans in closer to the door and murmurs against the crack, “I know about what happened. Please, let me check to make sure you are alright.”

“Sister Evangelina told you?” The lock clicks out of its place and she opens the door to admit him in. “If there is one thing I remember about her,” she is turned away from him as he walks in, “is that she is just as nosy as some of my neighbors.”

He closes the door behind him. “She means well. She’s just concerned for you and your health.”

She leans against the wall, still facing away from him, and buries her head in her hands. “They are all too kind and they shouldn’t be.”

He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Why is that?”

“Because I left them when they needed me the most. With the National Health in its infancy, they needed skilled nurses and I… I left without giving the full reason why.”

Doused in a silence, he runs his thumb along the top of her back. “I’m sorry for saying those malicious words in the bar. I was hurt that you had not told me, but I was also quite jealous.” At the quietness that surrounds them, he adds, “But most importantly, I’m sorry for propositioning you. You were in need of a man and, if you are still willing, a friend that night and I acted like a hurt little boy.”

“I’m sorry that I had lied to you. I was planning on telling you everything, but fate had beaten me to the punch – quite literally,” she adds under her breath. Just as he is about to scold her on her horrible pun, she lifts her chin up, out of the sanctuary of her palms. “When you see me, I don’t want you to get angry and to make rash decisions.”

He can already feel fury coursing through his veins, yet he lassos it in as best as he can, reminding himself that her health is more important than seeking revenge on who had hurt her. “Your health is my main concern right now.”

“Fair enough.” Taking a deep breath, she slowly turns towards him.

The dark black and blue hand marks that covers half of her face kicks his anger right into gear. Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep, steady breaths. “I’m going to go into clinical mode, then after that we can talk.” When she nods, he points towards the sofa, “Please sit down.”

“Before you ask, I have been putting continual ice packs on to help with the swelling. I also have been using this cream, that helps with deep tissue bruising.”

He wants to ask her when she has had to do this before to be already set into a routine of healing, but he holds his tongue. _She doesn’t need your cheek, Patrick. Assess and heal. Talk later._ “I’m going to check the tissue as well as the bone.” He stretches his arms forward to help pull back his sleeves. “This might hurt a bit.” With as much of a ginger touch as possible, he’s relieved to feel that the muscles are healing as well as there are no fractures.

She remains perfectly still throughout his cursory exam with only her fidgeting fingers as a clue as to the state of her nerves.

“Did you hit your head at all during the altercation?” He checks the back of her skull, despite the answer she was going to provide him.

“No.”

“Did he use a foreign object against your body? A belt or a cord, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Did he assault you anywhere else?” At her silence, he looks back into her eyes, the answer to his question sitting heavily in her stormy blue sapphires. His fingers starve to reach out and to caress her, but he stops himself. _Assess and heal_. “Did he assault you anywhere else?”

Pressing her lips together, she murmurs under her breath, “He made me have sex with him.”

Gritting his teeth, his hands curl into fists against his lap. White, hot fury rolls through him at the thought of a man – _a doctor no less_ – taking advantage of her. _She is your patient. Assess and heal._

Closing his eyes, he takes slow and measured breaths. When he feels like he is able to talk in a normal voice, he opens his eyes and tells her, “A pelvic exam will need to be performed to make sure that there is no infection from any tearing that might have occurred.” At her silence, he quickly adds, “There is a doctor not too far from here that exams the nuns when the time is needed. She is a nice woman.”

“There is no need. I have already had a pelvic exam.” She stands up from the sofa, “Would you like some tea? I had just made some when you had knocked.”

“Yes, please.” He watches her disappear behind the wall of her kitchen. That’s when he notices the hand prints wrapping around her wrists. Abruptly standing, he stalks back and forth along the line of her sofa. _I should have been there. If I wasn’t so damn prideful then maybe this wouldn’t have happened._

“It would have happened, regardless of the slightest bit of change.” He stops and finds her standing not too far from him with a tray of tea. She bites down on her bottom lip, “This is not your fault.”

“It damn near feels like it!” He falls back onto the sofa. “If only I had enough sense to to take you back home to Poplar.”

She settles down next to him and hands him his teacup before taking a sip from her own. “This has happened before, with other men. Surely, you are not to blame for those.”

He sets his cup down, “That’s not necessarily a vote of confidence in your chosen profession.”

“No it is not.” Her words are clipped, yet she doesn’t add anything else to the subject.

Pulling his notes from his case, he quietly asks, “Do you need me to do a blood test for any diseases?”

“We are checked bi-weekly for any disease. I am clean.”

Drowning in a vat of silence, Patrick finishes his notes before tucking them away in his case. Picking up his tea to drink it before it gets too cold, the tick of the clock on the mantle is the only thing that signifies the passage of time. Raw anger still simmers against his skin, yet her exam helped to stow it further into his mind where it can be dissected and departmentalized at a later time.

She looks up at him and smiles; his heart melts under the beauty of her soul. “Are you hungry? I have some—”

“I’m in love with you.” His words, never meant for anyone to hear, tumbles out from between his lips, unashamed and thankful to be seen in the light of day.

She bows her head, indecision and pain marring her beautiful features far more than the black and blue bruises. “I sell my body for sex, Doctor Turner. I can’t see how you can be in love with me even after everything we had gone through.”

“You don’t have to live that life anymore.” He reaches out and places his hand on hers. “You can be with me, with us.”

She slips her hand from underneath his, she bites down on her bottom lip. “I wasn’t forced into this position. I made the choice on my own free will. I could have chosen the path towards God or I could have been a nurse, but I walked away from it.”

“After all that you had been through, you still want to do this job?” At her fidgeting silence, he explodes, “He beat you and raped you and, yet, you… you are willing to continue on as if… as if nothing had ever happened?” His chest heaves up and down out of pure indignation.

“I do not want to carry on, but I must. I have a debt now with my Madam and I have to settle it before I make any decisions on if I want to continue on or not.”

Silence rings through the flat at her last confession. _She doesn’t want to do this, but she has to. What kind of world is this?_ “I’ll pay it off for you.”

“Don’t you dare!” She abruptly stands and paces the floor in front of him. “I will never allow you to pay one shilling towards me or my Madam. I will not dirty your hands with the choices I have made.”

“Then tell me, I beg of you, how can I be with you?”

“We can’t, not with the debt I have to pay.”

He stops her pacing body with a hand to her wrist, just like in the bar. “After you pay your debt?” He glances up at her, longing for her to say yes to him. When she doesn’t answer him back, he lets go of her wrist. “I’m a fool, aren’t I? I fell in love with a woman of the night and I am asking her to leave a good paying job for a life with a general doctor in the poorest districts in London.” Resignation snarls around his throat, choking him. “I’ll see myself out.” He gathers his case and stands. 

“You’ll become jealous if we are to continue on with our relationship, as friends or as lovers.” She calls after him. “I don’t want to hurt you. You are a gentle and kind man. You deserve a gentle and kind woman, someone who is not going to bring you grief, jealousy, or hurtful gossip.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“In my profession, jealousy, pain, humiliation leads to one thing and one thing only,” she takes a deep breath and motions to her face, “this.”

He instantly turns around, “No! Never! I would never do that to you!” He places both hands on her shoulders and beseeches, “I understand your logic, I really do, but you have to also understand that not every man is going to hurt you.”

“As physicians, both you and James took the same oath.”

“Don’t say that! We both are physicians, yes, but we are not the same man.” His tense muscles soften as he looks onto her melancholy face. “I don’t know what drove him to do what he did, but I will not easily forget it, I assure you.”

“Regardless of your intentions,” she steps closer so that his hands fall down to her elbows, “this is not the first time this has happened and it certainly won’t be the last.” He doesn’t give up his stand on the issue, not a single inch. “Besides, you have Timothy to think about. What were to happen if the good people of Poplar found out that you were running around with a whore?”

“Don’t you dare call yourself that!” He lifts his palm and gently strokes her cheek. “You are a beautiful woman inside and out. I should hope that they would see what I see.” She nuzzles her cheek within his palm and he all but melts. “However, I’m not naïve enough to know that that would be wishful thinking.”

“In truth, we would all be ridiculed, Timothy barring the brunt of it.” At his silence, she says out loud what he is thinking, “Kids can be just as cruel as their adult counterparts.”

“I understand,” he concedes, “yet, call me foolish, but I am going to hold out on the side of love when it comes time for you to make a choice.”

“The best kind of fool is a fool in love.”

His brow lifts in wonderment, “Is that a ‘I’m not going to make a promise out loud, but I promise to think about it’ promise?”

Her laughter gently spills out from her lips, creating the sweetest sound he had ever heard. “I will not make a promise to you, but I will inform you of my decision when the time comes.” She tilts her chin higher to gain a better view.

Their lips, oh-so-close, look to be a heavenly reprieve from the heaviness of their conversation. The desire to close the distance between them, to finally taste her lips, even just for one second, coils tightly in his belly. “Will I still see you at the diner?” Is his minds last ditch attempt to dissuade him from giving into his craving.

Closing her eyes to gather herself, she gives him a soft smile, “Yes,” she opens her eyes, “but I will not be going back until my bruises have healed.”

Feeling their once sizzling connection faltering, Patrick drops his hands back down to his sides. “I shall look forward to that day.”

“Patrick,” the curve of her brow and the dip in her voice makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “I want you to understand that it will be some time until the day I tell you of my decision. Between then and now, there will be a lot of men that I… that I, uhh,” she looks down at her bare feet, “I will have to sleep with a lot of men to pay off my debt.”

“How much is your debt?” His curiosity outweighs the tight pressure in his chest.

“Two hundred pounds.”

“Bloody hell! That’s what… that's how much… for one night?” He runs his fingers through his hair. The mere sight of two hundred pounds is shocking enough, _but to spend it all in one night_?

She shyly shrugs her shoulders, “We are a higher class establishment. Our clients are mainly lawyers, business owners, doctors, a few board members on some of the councils that are not very high on the British Monarchy’s list of priorities.”

He tilts his head to the side. “I think you are being a little modest.” Before his nerves get the best of him, he reaches out and lifts her chin with the crook of his finger.

“Well I am discussing my rates with a man who is in love with me and who I will never allow to purchase me.”

He willfully ignores the bit about the purchasing part. “And are you in love with me?” Their lips, once again so close, slightly part, eager to meet each other.

“That will be discussed when I have finally paid off my debt,” her whispered words brush against his cheek as she looks to the side, effectively breaking their hypnotizing pull to one another. “If there is one thing you can do for me in the interim?”

His heart begins to pound against his chest, “Anything.”

She presses her lips together, as if she doesn’t want to ask, but has to. “I’m afraid you’ll either find it terribly fun or frightfully bothersome.” At his furrowed brow, she says, “I would like for you to date around.”

“Excuse me?” He takes a small step back.

“Am I correct in asking if I am the first woman you have looked at since your wife died?” Silence permeates her small flat. While it’s true she was the first woman he had noticed after Mariann’s passing, he knew that he didn’t need to look anywhere else. _That was also before I found out how she spends her nights_. “Date around Patrick. Take them on dates. Make out with some. Have sex if you want to. See if it is me that you truly want.”

“It is!” He sharply looks up from his own scattered nerves and thoughts.

She gives a small, pitiful smile, “That might be the loneliness talking.”

He was going to argue that he didn’t fall in love with her at first sight, or at second for that matter, however, she had asked him to do one thing and one thing only. “I will only say yes to your request if you agree to let me take you to dinner.” He can already see her brow furrowing, a ‘no’ pressing against her darling lips. “You had agreed to go to dinner with me after the gala.”

Her forehead pinches in thought. “I did, didn’t I?” She sighs when he enthusiastically nods. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, ergo our earlier conversation, however I did say that I would.” She bites down on her bottom lip, “I would ask, though, that we have this date after my bruises have healed.”

“Yes, just as long as you don't forget.”

“I don't think you'll let me forget.” She gives him a bright smile. “One word of advice, when you start going on dates; date women outside of Poplar.” His eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “You live and work here. If something does not work out, you will have to be content on seeing that person on the streets or in the grocers.”

“Is that why you live here?”

She nods. “The chances of me running into someone I have, umm, made a transaction with are slim to none, seeing as those types of men do not live down here with their wives and families. In my profession, anonymity is key to a successful career.”

Jealousy claws against his throat, but he refuses to acknowledge it. “You have it all figured out.”

She bites down on her lip, no doubt hearing the bite in his voice. “I won’t take all of the credit. There have been many women before me who have willed down their knowledge.”

He opens his mouth to ask more question, at least to appease his curiosity, when he catches the time on her clock. Checking his wrist watch, he mumbles, “I’m late picking Timothy up.” He looks to her, “Would you like me to write a pain prescription for you?”

“No. Go pick up that dear, sweet boy of yours.” She shoos him out with her hands.

Picking up his case, he gives her a bright smile. Yet, just before he opens the door, he turns, “Before I forget. Timothy wanted me to tell you that his Science Fair will be the Saturday, the week after next at the Parish Hall.”

“I’ll be there to cheer him on.” She opens the door for him, “Now go!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He gives her a mock salute before walking out of her flat.

 

* * *

 

“Ahh, Doctor Turner, as I live and breathe.” Sister Evangelina stands from the chair behind the receptionists desk. “You have two women recuperating just fine with baby already ship shape and in bristol fashion, and one woman in the early stages of labor. Also, Fred is going to come down some time this morning to help with the boiler. Now that winter has passed, he says that he is able to sweet talk it, whatever on gods green earth that means.”

He picks up the mail left for him on the edge of the desk. “And I’m assuming you drew the short stick when it comes to working here this morning?” His quip is in jest and he shows it through a small smile edging its way towards his eyes.

“Ha!” She rolls her eyes. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? But, alas, no sticks were needed. I was sent by Sister Julienne to fill her roll until she is able to come down herself.” She steals a glance both ways before leaning in and asking, “And what of our mutual friend?”

He can’t believe that he had only seen her yesterday, but so much had been discussed – much of that discussion need not to be divulged to the steely nun in front of him. “She is badly bruised, but is fairing well.” His hand falls heavily down onto the desk, “You never told me that she had studied to become a nurse.”

She shrugs her shoulder, “All women who go through our order, will gain experience in both midwifery, nursing, and teaching.” Her eyebrows furrow as she looks to the ground in thought, “Yet, if my memory serves me right, she had come to the Mother House from the nurses program at The London.”

“Well, at this point, only time will be able to heal all wounds.” That statement, said in passing, stings him in the most vulnerable area in his heart. _Time and two hundred pounds to be exact._

“All wounds?” She steps around the small desk. “What else happened to her?” He opens his mouth to plead the doctor-patient card, when she beats him to the punch, “And don’t give me that doctor-patient malarkey. I was the one who had first made the diagnosis.”

He bites down his bottom lip and murmurs under his breath, “She was also sexually assaulted.”

Sister Evangelina’s cheeks pale at his words. “I’m sure all has been placed on your notes?” At his nod, she swallows hard. “Very well. You make sure to give her the very best of care.”

“I will.” Gathering his case and mail in both hands, he turns towards his office.

“Oh, and Doctor Turner.” He stops and looks back at the nun he has known for quite a long time. “There is a man, a Doctor James McDaniel waiting for you in your office. He said it was urgent that he meet with you. I was going to tell him to go take a hike, but he had mentioned something about the x-ray vans and I decided to let it slide.”

Pure fury flashes through his veins at his name being said. “Thank you, Sister.” Turning back towards his closed office door, he eyes it with both apprehension and rage. Twisting the knob open, he pushes the door open to see the offending man sitting in one of the visitors chair in front of his desk. “Get out.”

James abruptly stands and holds out his hands in peace. “Patrick, please, let me explain.”

“Get out of my office or I shall call the police to escort you out.” He throws both the mail and his bag off to the side.

James offers a sincere smile, “Come along, Patrick, ol’ boy, can’t we—”

Whatever he was going to say stops when Patrick lunges at him. Curling his hands underneath his coat lapels, he pulls him so close that they are now standing nose to nose. “I have nothing to say to you, you disgusting piece of filth. Our friendship ended when you decided to lay your hand across her cheek.” He tightens his grip, “Now leave or I’ll throw you out myself.”

“I’ll leave, I’ll leave,” he waits for Patrick to let go of him. When his hands come down and he steps to the side to allow passage, James straightens the wrinkles from his jacket. “I would have never thought you would have been caught by the snarls of a working girl.”

Patrick grits his teeth, his fingers curving into his palm, his nail digging deep reminding him to keep his anger in check. “I would have never thought that you would beat a woman and then rape her. I guess we surprised each other.”

“Be careful, Patrick,” he picks up his case from the ground and makes his way to the door, “she might look like a woman, and smell like a woman, but under that modest dress and naughty negligee, she will always be a whore willing to negotiate prices for her services.”

Rage, savage and blinding, pounds against Patrick’s chest and, like a beast, he charges forward, ramming his arm against James’ throat. “Leave and never come back.”

“Doctor Turner! What’s the meaning of this?” The sound of Sister Julienne’s soft but forceful voice comes through the blood rushing against his ears.

Taking a deep breath, he steps back, letting James go.

“You…,” James clutches his neck as he breaths in much needed oxygen, “have… got… it bad… for her.”

“Get your sorry ass out of my office.” He picks up his case and throws it clear across the reception area. “Now!”

“I know what I did was… abhorrent. I’m just sorry it cost both of us a dear friendship.” Once again smartening up his coat, he straightens his back and walks down the stairs. “Sisters,” he bows his head as he saunters by both nuns. Just as he picks up his case, he glances over his shoulder and calls out, “Oh, and Patrick, a word of advice from one paying customer to another, she likes to be fucked from behind.”

Blinding rage catapults Patrick down the stairs at full speed, red being the only vision he can see clearly. Yet just before he can wrap his outreaches fingers around James’ scrawny little neck, two sets of hands wraps themselves around his arms, trying in earnest to hold him back.

James on his part, unperturbed by everything going on around him, including seeing the man coming up behind him, pulls at imaginary lent. “In fact, like all Poplar girls, she’ll swallow for two shillings.” Feeling someone tapping his shoulder from behind, James turns to find a steady right hook hitting him in the jaw.

“My two beautiful girls were born and raised here,” Fred picks up the offending gentleman by his earlobes. “Now if I were you, I would leave before I allow the Doctor here to run after you.” Just as he is about to let him go, he pulls back, “Oh, and by the way, if I see you anywhere near here, then I promise you, good sir, that you will not make it out unscathed.”

Knowing that he is against an unshakable force, James wisely trots out at a fast pace.

“Frederick!” Sister Evangelina croaks as she places her body between Patrick and the door.

With his job not finished by the looks of the two nuns barely holding the doctor back, Fred walks up to them and quietly says, “Let him go, Sisters. I’ve got him.”

The doctor yanks his arms out of their relaxed grip and tries to sprint towards the door.

“Oh, no you don’t, Doctor Turner.” Fred picks him up under his arms and drags him the opposite way to his office. “We can’t have you chasing after that bloke and beating the tar out of him.”

“Let me go,” Patrick finagles his way out, yet before he can take one step, Fred captures him around the waist. “Get off me! Get off!” He tries with all of his might to force his way out to freedom with no success.

“He’s long gone by now, Doctor. Running after him will only drain you of your energy and make you look like a damned fool.”

Losing a bit of steam, Patrick heatedly mumbles, “The things he said, they were… they were…”

“Believe me when I say that avenging the honor of a woman with your fists will never get you into her good graces. In the end, you will have to work just as hard to gain her trust again.”

Finally with all his fight quickly being depleted, Patrick slumps against Fred’s barrel of a chest. “He slapped her around. The bruises to her body are…,” he hangs his head in defeat.

Helping him up, Fred steps to the side to support him from underneath his arms. “Maybe this conversation should not be had in mixed company. Let’s come into your office.” Walking him in, he brings him to the chair behind his desk. “Where’s your liquor?”

Patrick slumps in, curving his back against the uncomfortable and unforgiving wood. “Bottom left hand drawer.”

Automatically seeing the filled decanter, Fred quickly pours the amber liquid into a glass tumbler. “Here. Down the hatches.”

The alcohol, biting the moment it hits his tongue, slithers down his throat and coats his raw muscles. He holds out his empty glass and Fred pours in some more.

The cycle continues – Fred pours, Patrick drinks, Fred pours, Patrick drinks, Fred pours, Patrick drinks – until Fred places the decanter back into its rightful place.

“There’s this woman I care about,” Patrick starts off, yet lets it drift off as thoughts of her swirls in his mind.

After a moment of silence, Fred mutters, “There’s always a woman involved.”

“There’s some history with her,” Patrick moodily pushes his glass onto his desk.

“There’s always that too.” Fred straightens his back, “Do you like this woman?” Patrick immediately nods. “Does she make you happy and all that jazz?” Patrick dreamily nods. “Are you able to get past her history?” Again, Patrick nods, albeit a bit more slowly. “Then everything else is garbage.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Patrick pushes himself up to stand, but then clumsily falls back down. “How many shots did I take?”

Fred stands himself and claps the doctor on his back, “As my old Captain would say, either enough to make a fighting man stand down or enough to kill a small horse. I’ll make sure to let the Sisters know that you will need some down time before going back to catching those babies.”

Just as Fred goes to turn out the lights, Patrick drunkenly calls out, “Thank you for everything.”

 

* * *

 

—Knock, Knock, Knock—

Looking up from her book, Shelagh stares at the door, curious as to who could be on the other side. Standing up, she makes her way to the entrance. “Who’s there?”

“Sister Evangelina. Please open up.”

Sounding more harden than the last time she had seen the older nun, Shelagh unlocks the door and opens it. “Sister, I’ve already—”

“Listen here little miss thing, I’m going to only say this once and once only.” She slips in and closes the door. “I don’t know what you have gotten yourself into after you left the Mother House and, quite frankly, I don’t care, but if you bring that kind of stuff to Doctor Turner’s life without any remorse, then hell hath no fury when I come to you.”

“Sister, I assure you, I have no—”

“He defended your honor today. A man, one that you share history with and the one that presumably gave you these bruises, came to see Doctor Turner.”

Shelagh captures her head in her hands, “Oh no!”

“Doctor Turner risked his practice, his reputation, and, quite frankly my dear, his life for you.” Sister Evangelina points her finger in Shelagh’s face, “Now I want you to think long and hard about your next move. He has a family and community standing in this area. If you are going to use him and leave him high and dry, then I want you to think again.”

“Sister, I know this looks awful but I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

“Bull! Whether you are a willing participant or an innocent bystander, you are going to hurt him if this keeps up.”

“I’ve tried…,” Shelagh tries to work through the knot of guilt and shame lodged in her throat. “I’ve tried to push him away, but he says that he is in love with me.”

“Give me strength!” Sister Evangelina rolls her eyes to kingdom come. “He’s a man who has the challenge of an unobtainable woman in front of him. Of course he’s going to fall in love with you. I mean, it’s their lot in life to—”

“I’m in love with him,” Shelagh whispers her confession. “I am bound until I can make a certain amount of money. He has offered to pay, but I’ll never take his money. He too good for it, too good for me.” She looks to the awestruck nun. “I’ve told him that I am no good for him, many times, but he is adamant.” She wipes away a tear that is sliding down her black and blue cheek. “I’ve tried – believe me, I have – yet, maybe, subconsciously, I was hoping that he would be just as stubborn as I am.”

“Then before you make any long term decisions and cause more heartbreak, figure out what you both want and go from there. This might surprise you but,” Sister Evangelina takes a step forward, “the answer might be simpler than you think and right there in front of your face.”

“And if that means I have to break his heart?”

“Then do it with honor to him and to yourself. No running away when it gets too hard. Communicate, listen, and act accordingly towards each other.” Sister Evangelina pats her on the shoulder, “I will take my leave. My apologies for intruding.”

“Thank you, Sister, for everything. I know…,” she swallows hard, shame still festering against her skin, “I know this is not the life you had envisioned me or any of your former sisters to have.”

“But it is your life and your choices. If you truly seek a change, then you, and only you, will make it happen.” Shelagh watches as her former sister turn for the door. “Good night, Miss Mannion.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Ms. Shelagh! You made it!” Timothy reaches out and wraps his arm around the woman in front of his booth. “Dad told me that he told you but he was unable to say if you were going to come here or not.”

“After all the work we put into your project?” Shelagh pulls back and brightly smiles. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

“Come! Look! I’ve added watercolors to the germs.” He stands back from his board, “You know, if you stand back a bit, it actually looks quite pretty.”

“It seems as if you a Claude Monet in the making.”

Timothy turns with a wrinkled brow, “Who?”

“An impressionist painter from France,” a voice behind them calls out. “I have been lucky to see a few of his works before they vanished under the Nazi Regime.”

“Dad!” Timothy hugs his father tightly. “You came on time!”

“I made sure to give myself enough time. I didn’t want to miss this.” He turns to Shelagh and gives her a small smile. “Did you show it to her just yet?”

Timothy vigorously shakes head and dives down under the table. Extracting a small painting, he hands it to her. “This is for you, a thank you for helping me with my project.”

“Oh, my,” she becomes breathless as she looks onto the painting with keen eyes. She glances up to see the Turner men looking at her expectantly. “This is, by far, the prettiest thing I own.”

Timothy blushes a deep red and looks around the thin crowd to see if any of his friends can see him. “Dad helped me a bit on the colors.”

“Which is this one? The first one we found under the sink at the surgery or the one we found in the alley with the cats?” Shelagh holds the painting as far as her arms can reach. “No, this is one we didn’t do.”

Patrick turns to his son, “I thought this one looked like the mold you both found underneath the old fish cartons.”

“It’s one of the samples you brought back to me from your trip into Chelsea. It was the one labeled, ‘bathroom’.” Proud, Timothy bounces on the balls of his feet with the brightest smile stretching across his cheeks.

Fear mars Patrick’s face, however, Shelagh quickly puts his initial thoughts out of misery. “I retrieved this from my friend’s house. Boy, will she be tickled pink and slightly mortified that the inspiration from this beautiful painting came from her guest bathroom sink.”

Patrick visibly sighs in relief, “Well done son.”

“I will treasure this, Timothy.” She leans down and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

In a state of bliss, Timothy lightly touches his cheek where she had kissed, “Wow.”

Not able to control his laughter, Patrick tries to cover it with a cough – in which he failed miserably.

“Dad!” Embarrassment stinging his already sensitive cheeks and cracking his voice.

Volleying between father, who is still laughing, and son, who is still petulant, Shelagh asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Ms. Shelagh and neither has Timothy.”

Shelagh squints her eyes at Patrick, “Mmm-hmm…,” but then decides to leave it as is between father and son. “Well, I’m sorry to say this, but I do have to leave.” She turns back to Timothy, “Thank you for inviting me and for my beautiful painting. I hope you get placed.”

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Shelagh! Hopefully I’ll see you soon.” Timothy gives her another quick hug before returning to his post next to his science board.

“Will you allow me to walk you out?” Patrick holds out his arm to the side to allow her to move first between the tables.

She gives him a small smile, “Yes, that would be lovely.” She navigates her way through the various students and their science projects. Once they are out in the lobby, they are able to walk side by side, his hand reaching out only once towards the small of her back to help her through the door.

“I can see that your bruises have healed up nicely since the last I saw you nearly a fortnight ago.”

“Yes,” she pushes the door open towards the warm air that springtime usually brings. While Patrick holds the door open for two families, Shelagh walks towards the benches in a quiet corner from the hustle and bustle of proud Poplar families wishing to support their children. The amount of time between seeing him had been her own selfish choosing, Sister Evangelina's heated words mixing with her own confession to the nun keeping her away to giver herself some time to think. _It didn't help much,_ she quietly mumbles in her mind as she looks down at the painting.

Staring at its intricate colors and patterns, pride begins to weave its cozy warmth along the pit of her stomach.

Digging out his pack of cigarettes, Patrick offers one to her.

She accepts, of course, and leans over when he provides the light. Taking a blessed breath in, she rejoices in the bitter, yet, mesmerizing taste that coats her tongue. “What kind are these?”

“Henley’s,” he lights his own cigarette, taking joy in his first drag. She adores it, of course, yet she won’t tell him that. _Not yet, at least._

“Mmm,” memories upon memories of her home bombard her mind. _Top right drawer, in the very back_. “I like Henley’s.” At his surprise, she explains, “My father used to smoke them. Every once in a while, I would go in a sneak one out of his desk.”

“The first time I smoked a Henley was the night Timothy was born.” His laughter at his own memory resounds off the brick walls. “I had grabbed them by accident, but I was in such a rush to get home that I didn’t care what pack I had gotten.” He takes another glorious puff. “I was partial to Chesterfields back then, especially during the war, but after that night I had stuck with Henley’s.”

“Why is that?”

Patrick looks towards the evening sky, his laughter dying out in his chest, “Mariann had some complications. Subconsciously, I placed the luck of her recovery on these cigarettes and got into the habit of picking these up.” He takes a peak over to her, “You look very lovely tonight.”

Her nerves jumble about in the pit of her belly. “This is my first night back with my other job.”

“What a coincidence,” Patrick murmurs, “I have my first date tonight.”

Blinking several times, Shelagh turns to him and coyly coos, “And to where will you be taking her?”

Patrick digs his cigarette into the concrete seat. “A small restaurant in downtown London.”

“Very posh!” She stands to put her own cigarette out. “Care to walk me to my bus stop?”

“I would be happy to,” he stands and they begin to walk in sync together towards his car, “you can place your painting in here. I’ll drop it off when I pick you up for our date.”

She gently lies her prized painting in his boot, before smirking, “See, I knew you wouldn’t let me forget about our date.”

He gives her a rambunctious smile, “Nope, not when I’ve got it all planned out.” She lifts her brow in amusement, but, before she can probe him any further, he asks, “Where is your date taking you?”

Shelagh glances around to see that they are alone, most families now in the Parish Hall. “To a hotel in Chelsea. He only has me for two hours.” Even in the low light of dusk, she can see jealousy churning along his handsome features. “May I give you more advice on your date?”

“Honestly,” his smile turns roguish, “I need all the help I can get. I haven’t been on a date in quite a long while and, even then, I had known Mariann from school.”

“Lose the jumper and change your tie to the one you wore at the gala. Do not, under any circumstances, order for her. And when you walk her to her door, kiss her on the cheek, but no where else.” She gives him a sly smile, “unless she wants you to kiss her somewhere else.”

He bites down on his bottom lip, “I don’t know if she’ll—”

“If she’s keen, then go for it, but only if you feel comfortable with it too.” She places her hand over his arm. “There’s nothing wrong with kissing.”

Abruptly stopping, he pulls her to a secluded corner hidden by the shadows of the tall buildings. He grips the curve of her shoulders with both hands and murmurs just loud enough for her to hear, “If there is nothing wrong with kissing, then I want to kiss you.”

Her heart, pounding a nonsensical cadence against her chest, stops when the back of his fingers reach up to caress her cheek. “We shouldn’t,” yet, her body on its own accord leans in closer to him.

She can quite literally hear the smile on his face, “I want to, just a small one.”

“Only this once,” she lightly breathes as he closes the distance.

Pure electricity passes between the bodies when their lips finally touch, the pinnacle of their shared passion reaching this point in such a simple act. _Magic. Stars bursting at the seams. A crescendo of two passions colliding. Fireworks over the Thames_. Whatever has been written before on such occasion as this, flutters through her mind as they lean against each other in support.

However, his lips disappear just as quickly as they came when he pulls back. “Wow.”

“That’s the same thing Timothy said,” she mumbles as she leans in closer.

“I would like to kiss you—” His words are swallowed whole as she pulls him down by the knot of his tie and crashes her lips onto his.

Those lips, so plain by anyone’s standards, ignites something fierce within her chest. One kiss certainly should have been enough to appease her curiosity, but now that she has had one, she has an uncanny desire to have more. An infinite amount more.

His fingers, long and gentle, fan through the base of her neck into her hair, encouraging her to explore.

Yet, as one tendril falls out of place, she is reminded of where she needs to go tonight. Reluctantly, she pulls back with a soft sigh. “We shouldn’t have done that,” the effects of their kiss quickly wearing off as logic takes ahold her mind.

His hands sweep down her arms, bringing warmth she never knew she needed until now. “I’m not sorry that it happened.”

 _Neither am I,_ she silently quips back. “I have to get going, otherwise, I’ll miss my bus.”

“Very well,” he steps aside out of the shadow to allow her to go through. Once again, they walk side by side in silence until the bus sign shines under the light of the lamp post. “Thank you for the advice.”

“You’re welcome,” she gives him a shy smile. “Above all else, Patrick, have fun tonight. First dates are never meant to be serious. Be silly and funny and you’ll do just fine.”

On time, right on the dot, the bus pulls around the corner.

“Be safe, tonight,” he quickly murmurs, “and if you should need me, do not hesitate to call me.”

Her bus stops and opens the door. “Have a good evening, Doctor Turner.” Rewarding him with one more smile, she climbs onto the bus and pays her fare. “Hey Ernie.”

“Hey, Bern, long time no see.” The driver looks to the man standing at the door and asks, “Are you getting on?”

Patrick answers, “no,” after Shelagh answers back, “I was on vacation.”

The door closes and, slowly, Shelagh walks to her normal seat where she watches Patrick become smaller and smaller as the bus moves away.

 

* * *

 

“Well, Emma, I had a nice time tonight,” Patrick internally cringes. The night had been a total disaster in his meager opinion.

Set up through a friend of his, he had known nothing of Emma other than her name and that she loves movies. A few things his friend forgot to mention was that Emma was a good twenty years younger than him and that she loved cat-sitting for her neighbor. All was okay, until Patrick opened her seat for her and thus began his sneezing fit.

Unbeknownst to both Emma and his friend, he is allergic to cats, mainly their dander. Between his runny nose and her popping her chewing gum, their date went from mediocre to disaster within the blink of his swollen eyes.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Do you want to come in and have sex?”

 _What?!_ “Excuse me?”

“Listen, I hate going on dates, but I like older guys and, well, you’re cute enough.” She twirls her hair around her finger. “My parents are out of town. Do you want to come in and have sex?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Patrick mutters.

“I have some condoms.”

“It’s not that,” he furrows his brow, “it’s just, my wife died almost a year and a half ago and I don’t think I’m ready for anything like that.”

She rolls her eyes again, “Whatever.” Turning away from him, she walks into her house without a single glance back.

Surprised and slightly perturbed by what had just happened, Patrick rolls his own eyes and saucily mutters back, “Whatever.” Walking back to his car, his thoughts roam to Shelagh and where she is at. Checking his watch, he quietly reasons that she must be finished with her date and is back in her home.

Not wanting to focus solely on who she is with, he thinks back to their small tryst in the shadow of the alleyway. _Our first kiss_. He was excited that it had happened, but sad that it was over so quickly. _I never wanted it to end_.

He opens the door to his car and slide into the driver’s side. _But it had to if she wants to pay off her debt._

Jamming the key into the ignition, Patrick growls at the barbaric notion of a woman being in debt to her Madam. _If I could, I would just pay the whole damn thing off for her_. He places the gear into first position and eases the car into the road. _I mean, I would wipe out all of my savings, but it would be worth it, right_?

The image of Shelagh’s face marred in anger has him shaking his head at the idea. _Not only would she be furious at me, but I’m not sure if she would ever see me again._

Passing through downtown, the lights from the streets and buildings cross his face as he moves quickly through the traffic. Not for the first time in so many hours, does he wonder what Shelagh is doing. _Or rather who she is doing_ , his jealous subconscious bites back.

 

* * *

 

21:16.

_Are you kidding me? It’s only been sixteen minutes. Two hours should have ended fifteen minutes ago, yet here we are, sixteen minutes into my two-hour time block._

Glancing up at the ceiling, she lazily counts the tiles as the man on top of her pounds away.

It had started out business as usual, they met, negotiated terms and prices, and then they took off their clothes. He had been insistent that only he can touch his clothes, no one else. When he was naked, she had gotten down on her knees to service him with her mouth.

He immediately pulled away from her and had told her to lie perfectly still on the mattress. From there, things went from bad to worse as he positioned her body to his specifications; legs wide open, hands by her side, and eyes closed.

Now as he grunts and groans onto top of her, she allows her mind to drift back to the point in the evening when Patrick had his lips on hers. It was sloppy and purely innocent, but absolutely perfect. It left her wanting more.

Shifting her eyes to look at the balding man on top of her, she can’t help but silently quip, _anything is better than this._

 _Come on, Shelagh, think your way through this one._ Tilting her hips slightly downward, he actually begins to stroke her clit. _Accidental, maybe, but I’ll take what I can get._

Closing her eyes once again, she imagines the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, at least the sexier parts that used to make her giggle when she was in school. Within a matter of moments, her body goes from unimaginable boredom to a pleasurable bliss as her orgasm washes over her.

“Oh… oh no…,” seizing his muscles, the man, his name not even worth remembering, comes. Pushing himself off of the bed, he rips off the condom and begins to pace the room. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no!”

Shelagh sits up, genuinely concerned for the man in front of her. “Are you okay?”

“Shut up and lay down, you stupid bitch!” His arms, just like his voice, explodes from his body. “You’re supposed to play dead.” Resuming his fast pace, he mutters under his breath sweet nothings as he tugs at his penis.

Laying back down on the bed, spread eagle just the way he positioned her, she glances over at the clock when he turns his back towards her.

21:21.

_Bloody hell, this is going to be a long night._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait! Work has been so busy these past few weeks, but now things are starting to simmer down. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up with updating new chapters! Thank you so much for your continued support!

—Ring, Ring—

Shelagh reaches over to pick up the phone, “Hello.”

“Good morning,” the unmistakable voice of her favorite doctor makes her smile into the receiver.

“Good morning, Doctor Turner. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I would like to know which night you are available for me to take you out on our date.”

Shelagh opens her date book to search for opening nights. With a debt to pay, she had requested dates with her regulars and new men as much as she could. “I am free…,” she flips her pages back and forth, “this Thursday, next Monday, Wednesday, and every Sunday.”

“How about I pick you up this Thursday? Timothy can go to his grandmothers for a long weekend and I can easily get a replacement for the night.”

“Thursday night it is,” she murmurs as she pencils in his name. “And how shall I dress?”

“Pardon me?”

“Should I dress a certain way?”

“Oh… uhh… dress however you feel comfortable. The places we are going to requires no specific dress code.”

“Very well,” she closes her book and sighs, “I am looking forward to Thursday night.”

“Me too. I can’t wait to take you to — oh, uh, my next appointment is here. I shall see you on Thursday.”

“I will see you then.”

“Goodbye.”

Expecting him to hang up to rush to his patient, she is surprised to hear him still on the line. “Goodbye, Patrick Turner.”

She can hear him grinning wildly, “Goodbye.” And this time, he does hang up.

Staring at the receiver with the silliest smile playing on her lips, she hangs up and goes about finishing her chores around her flat. Glancing out of the window, she marvels how much brighter everything seems to be around her.

 

* * *

 

Patrick stares at his reflection for the third time in so many seconds. Adjusting his tie once more, he silently huffs to himself when the tie slants crookedly.

“Good evening, Doc.” An older gentleman, _Mr. Mason_ , his mind supplies, greets Patrick with an opened door.

“Thank you, Mr. Mason,” Patrick takes the door and walks right through. “Have a good evening.” The man just simply nods already halfway down the street on his way to his favorite pub. Hopping up the stairs, two at a time, he readjusts his tie once again before knocking.

As the door opens, the air from his lungs dissipates into nothingness at the sight her, a vision in her light blue dress. Modest by the standard set from that beaded dress he had seen her in over a month ago, yet just as lovely. “Hi,” is all he mumbles out.

Shelagh rolls her eyes and tries her best to hide her growing smile. “Come along then,” she widens the door to invite him in.

“You look absolutely lovely tonight,” he shyly turns to her, still trying to adjust his tie in jest.

She reaches out and fixes the stubborn slip of fabric for him, “And you are looking rather handsome.”

Fascinated by the nimble work of her slender fingers, he looks up to see her lips, so rosy and kissable, so close to his own. “I want to kiss you.”

“That’s supposed to happen at the end of the date.” The heat from her palms can be felt through both his Oxford and his jacket.

“Our relationship is far more different than what most people consider the norm.” He cups her cheeks, fire runs through her eyes as his thumb sweeps along her bottom lip. “I want to kiss you and, I think, you want to kiss me back.”

She smiles, coyly, just before she kisses the pad of his thumb as it makes another sweep. “Then kiss me.”

Never needing to be told twice, he dives in and captures the lips that has had him under its hypnotic spell since the night he had her pressed against the wall in the alley. Fireworks, as loud as artillery shells, pounds against his ears as anticipation sizzles through his veins.

 _Home – her arms, her body, her lips, her very being is the home I had never known I had missed since Mariann’s passing_.

Wrapping his tie around her fingers, she pulls him closer, encouraging him to press her body against the door. His body, needing her warmth, his home, yields to her demands.

Yet, at the last possible second, he resists the temptation. He does not want to be that man, forceful and demanding of her body, whom she sees day in and day out within the parameters of her job. Leaning out of their embrace, his hands fall down to her shoulders as he kisses her forehead, “If I could, I would kiss you into next week.”

“Yet,” she snuggles underneath his chin and kisses his neck, “you hold back.”

The stroke of her tongue drawing lazy patterns sends him in dizzying circles. “I’m in love with you. Unlike the gentlemen you meet, eventually, I will have all the time in the world to be with you, to properly show the love I have for you presently beating in this old heart of mine.” He kisses her forehead again and takes a step back. Sharp chills power up through his spine, yet he ignores them and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m a patient man.”

“You are an odd man, Patrick Turner,” she gives him a sweet smile, “and, despite all that I am used to, I slowly find myself being enraptured by your quirkiness.”

He gives her a cheeky grin, “Is that your way of saying that you have feelings for me too?”

Her laughter is captured by the press of her finger against her lips. “That’s my way of saying that I look forward to our times together.”

“Then you will adore our evening tonight.” He takes her coat from the hook and opens it for her to slip it on. “First is dinner at the Dorchester followed by a few pints at a jazz club that I used to visit when I was younger.”

“Dinner at the Dorchester is terribly extravagant,” her brow lifts as she buttons up her coat.

“Not if you know where to dine,” he wickedly grins. Opening the door, he takes her hand into his arm and walks her out to his car.

 

* * *

 

“I never knew you could dine in here,” Shelagh glances around the darkened panel of the lounge.

“They don’t usually advertise it, yet a buddy of mine, who works behind the front desk, told me about it when I wanted to take Mariann somewhere special.” With very few people around them, he reaches out for her hand, “Order what you would like.”

“Only if you will allow me to buy a few pints at the jazz club,” mirth twinkling in her eyes as she watches gentlemanly propriety warring along his features. “I’m afraid I will be rather stubborn on the subject, otherwise it will be a salad and water for me.”

He rolls his eyes and huffs, “Very well, but I also reserve the choice of having a pint of Bass rather than a German beer.”

She twists her palm up, capturing his fingers with her own, “Throw in some pork scratchings and you’ve got yourself a deal.” Seeing the bartender coming up to them to take their order, she reluctantly let’s go and returns her attention back to the menu at hand.

After a few moments, drinks and food safely ordered, the bartender leaves them to their own solitude. The lounge, though busy at certain times, remains devoid with the exception of a smattering of people hoping also to avoid the crowds that will come after dinner time.

“Did you come here with Mariann often?”

“Not as much as I wanted to,” guilt draws his eyes down to his lap. “We had come just a handful of times, mainly to celebrate our anniversary, however my rise of responsibilities in the community as a GP had taken me far more than I wish to admit.”

“I’m sure she enjoyed it, regardless.” The bartender comes back to them with their drinks in hand, a Manhattan for him and a glass of wine for her.

“To our first of many dates,” they raise their glasses together and cheers.

“Speaking of dates,” she licks the top of her lip, “how did yours go this past weekend?”

“How long have you been holding that question in?” He plays off her question, yet, he doesn’t hide the grimace as expertly as he probably thinks.

“Far too long.” She playfully bats her eyelashes. “Now, no stalling. Tell me everything about it.”

He pulls out his pack of cigarettes and holds it out for her. “I’ll tell all about it to my heart’s content,” he digs out two cigarettes and lights them both from between his lips, “if you first tell me about your own first night back.”

She subconsciously licks her top lip, uneasiness snaking around her throat. “It was…,” she shrugs her shoulders as she takes the offered cigarette, “fine.” She steals a selfish puff before adding nonchalantly, “At least as well as any of these nights can be expected.”

He lifts his brow as curiosity colors his hazel eyes dark. “Mine was fine, as well.” He purses his lips and it’s then, when he takes a small sip of his drink, that she sees jealousy fuel the fire that is now simmering in his eyes.

 _Damn stubborn man!_ She drowns the rest of her wine. “He is a necrophiliac,” she whispers across the small table.

Confusion subdues his jealousy. “Excuse me?”

She presses her lips together when she sees their bartender return with their bowls of soup. When he excuses himself to pour her another glass of wine, she picks up her spoon and calmly explains, “He wanted me to pretend to be dead so that he could have sex with me.”

Patrick looks horrified, “You have got to be kidding me!”

Shelagh rolls her eyes, “I wish I was, but that’s not even the worse part.”

“Please regale me in the worse part of your evening other than playing dead so that some guy can—” He abruptly stops when the bartender drops off her glass of wine, busying himself with adjusting the napkin in his lap. Eyeing the young man until he is a safe distance away, he curtly finishes with, “—so that some guy can climax.”

His dry delivery makes Shelagh roll her eyes, “At the end of the night, his mother came in and appraised if I truly looked dead or not.” Just as Patrick was about to cut in, Shelagh holds up her hand, already knowing what he is going to say, “I told Elizabeth that I will not be seeing him, regardless of his mother’s assessment. I also told Elizabeth that if I’m going to get those type of men, then I will refuse to come back.”

“Did the threat work?”

“Other than my regulars who are loyal to me, she agreed to give me some of the more normal ones.” His chin hits the floor in shock as she runs her spoon through her tomato bisque. “She said that it was my punishment for missing out on two weeks of work.”

“But…,” he glances both ways to check their surroundings, “but, you were assaulted! How can you be held responsible for—”

She covers the top of his hand with her palm and murmurs, “My countdown is on and that is all I care about at the moment. After that, I assure you, I will be leaving the business.”

“Really?” Patrick instantly brightens up at the news, to the point where he finally takes his first bite of his soup.

“Yes,” she leaves her spoon in her empty bowl, “however, I’m still unsure of what I want to do.”

“Hmm,” Patrick finishes his soup in record haste when he sees the bartender bringing out their food. Once their food is laid out, he waits a few moments before murmuring, “well, you can’t go back to being a nun.”

“That ship has sailed almost five years ago.” She stares down at her plate. “This looks absolutely divine.” Letting their previous conversation idle, they eagerly dive into their food.

It isn’t until the bartender drops off fresh drinks for them does he blurt out, “You can go back to nursing school.”

She bites down on the inside of her cheek before taking a sip of her wine, “I finished nursing school, I just never registered.”

“We can get married,” he looks at her, desire shining as brightly as the sun.

They could and she knows that they would both be happy together, but she will always wonder if he just settled for her. _I am a beautiful woman and I can give blowjobs, but after a while, beauty will fade and blowjobs can only go so far_ ; _both_ _never enough to sustain a marriage._ “How did your date go? And don’t say ‘fine’. I saw the way you nearly vomited into your drink.”

At first, stubbornness crosses his eyes at the abrupt change of subjects, yet when she stands her ground, he silently relents. “It was awful from the moment we met. Not only was I twenty years her junior, but she loved cats. Being allergic to them myself, I spent the entire meal sneezing into my pasta. Then to top it all off, when I walked her to her door, she asked me, quite bluntly, if I wanted to have sex with her.”

Her brow arches, her dinner now long forgotten, “Did you?”

“Of course not! I’m old enough to be her father, which apparently is a turn on for her.” He makes the same disgusted face Timothy makes when people talk about ‘mushy’ stuff. “And let’s not forget the cat dander!”

Shelagh clutches her stomach as laughter tumbles out from between her lips. “You are… you are making that up!”

Patrick begins to laugh too, “Yes, apparently I made it up from the same imaginative place you came up with your necrophiliac John.”

“Oh, come now,” Shelagh wipes away the tears still sliding down her cheeks, “in my defense, that’s not the weirdest thing I’ve done in this profession, nor was it the most horrible way to spend two hours -- boring, yes, but far from horrible.”

Patrick makes his ‘Timothy’ face, “Should I even ask?”

Shelagh stifles her laugh, “Not when I’m sober.” Patrick offers her another cigarette and she gladly takes one. “Have you been on any more dates?”

“Since that disaster? No.” He takes a deep breath and signals to the bartender that they are ready for the check, “To be quite honest, I’m out of my element. I’m not a young man anymore and I have a family and a community who depends on me. How am I supposed to find a woman around my age and outside of where I live and work to go on a date with me?”

“That’s the main reason why we—”

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Their bartender picks up their plates.

“It was quite delicious, thank you.” Patrick smiles, “We would like one more round and then I would like to pay our bill.”

Once the young man bows and disappears around the corner with their empty plates, Shelagh leans in closer, “Most men have neither the time nor energy to play the dating game. That is why they come to us. Yes, some are married men looking to get a blowjob done at least once in his lifetime, but for others, they want to get to the end result without having to marry first.” She takes a long drag, “These men call us, set up a night at a hotel, we have dinner, fool around for a bit and we go our separate way.”

Their bartender drops off both the check and their drinks.

Patrick pulls out his wallet and digs out a few bills. “Thank you, young man. Our compliments to the chef and his staff.”

“Of course, sir. We hope you have a wonderful evening.” The young bartender, thankful for the generous tip, bows, “Thank you for dining with us at the Dorchester Hotel.”

Running the tip of her finger along the rim of her wine glass, Shelagh purses her lips and murmurs, “You know, Patrick Turner, if I didn’t know you any better, I would say that you were trying to get me drunk.” She takes a small sip of her wine. And then another.

“You don’t seem like the type of woman that would do such things with you other job.”

“No, I would never.” She runs the pad of her thumb along her other fingers. “That type of loss of control can be dangerous.”

Swallowing the rest of his drink, he stands and makes his way to her side. Pulling out the chair for her, he extends his arm and escorts her out towards the lobby. “If you don’t mind a brisk walk, the jazz club I want to take you to is about fifteen minutes from here.”

The night air is surprisingly cool, pleasant to enjoy as the traffic of cars wiz past, the busy sounds of the city filling the silence between them.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did,” he quips with a snarky grin.

She playfully elbows him before becoming serious once again, her nerves twisting about in the pit of her belly, “How is it you fell in love with me?” When confusion draws his brows down, she bluntly clarifies, “The night you found out about my profession, I could have sworn that I would have never seen you again. What changed?”

“I had known that I had feelings for you for some time; in fact, it was the moment I saw you in the kitchen with Timothy helping him with his science project. Even through all of his excitement, you were gentle and patient with him, yet, you weren’t scared to get dirty all for the sake of his project.” He places his hand over hers, nestled safely in the nook of his elbow. “I thought I had all this time for us to get to know each other. Then at that gala, I was forced to show my hand or lose you indefinitely. I chose you. Everything else just sort of became… cemented after that.”

“It’s just… well,” she falters, “you’re supposed to be disgusted by me,” her words fall to a sad, little whisper battling against the noises around them.

“There are a lot of things we are supposed to do, but, if we did what was expected of us, our lives would constantly fall short of being spectacular.”

The sorrow in his voice, sharply edged with a mixture of guilt and shame keeps her from inquiring any further. She gives him the space and the time to allow him to elaborate on his own. 

“Here it is,” his eyes light brightly as they walk up to the door leading into The Flamingo. “I came here a few times after the war. It helped me piece together different parts of me that I had thought were beyond repair.”

His hollow words are not the only thing that bothers her about his statement, it’s the silence that follows it. “The war had torn apart many families, countless men. I’m glad you found something that could soothe your soul.”

He looks to her, wanting to truly see her own hidden meaning within her statement, but she glances away, not yet ready to show him that piece of her that has remained cut off from the light of day.

“Well, if it isn’t the young Paddy Turner,” a man walks out from the door with the biggest smile and a hand already reached out. “Welcome back to the world of jazz, my friend.”

“Louis, it been far too damn long,” Both men shake hands before they turn to the lady, “Louis, this is Shelagh. Shelagh this is my **_old_** friend Louis.”

“Not as old as the way your lookin’ nowadays.” The darker skinned man rolls his eyes before turning back to Shelagh. “It is certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he bends over and kisses the top of her hand. “Any friend of Patrick here is a friend of mine. Please come in and let me get both of you a drink.” Wrapping her arm around his elbow, Louis escorts Shelagh inside, making sure to throw a cheeky smirk over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Louis,” Shelagh glances over her shoulder and winks back at Patrick. “Do you own this club?”

“No, I mainly work in the back, with the entertainers especially. Lucky enough for me, though, it was Paddy here that helped me get this job.” Stopping at the bar, the place is busy, but not packed. Most people are either on the dance floor or at the bar, the music playing from a record.

“It’s a nice place you moved into,” Patrick saddles up next to them, possessively placing the palm of his hand on the small of her back.

“You betcha!” Louis signals to the bartender for a round of beers. “So much has changed since the last time you came to The Flamingo. Ever since we had Ella and Billie Holiday, so many people have walked through our doors.”

“You had Billie Holiday here?”

Louis gives her a bright smile, “At our old location at Coventry Street. She was simply fantastic.” He digs through his pocket and takes out his pack of cigarette, offering it to both Patrick and Shelagh. “The most magical part from that night were the people who had come to see her.” He sticks three fags in his mouth, lighting them and passing them off to his friends. “Whites and blacks mixing, enjoying the music, sharing both drinks and memories, dancing side by side with one another – it’s something I had not seen before.”

“Here, here, Louis,” Patrick raises his glass and all three cheers to the night.

“So tell me Paddy,” Louis’ eyes light up with mirth, “what is an old man like you taking this fine-lookin’ woman to a place like this?”

Before Patrick can formulate his comeback, Shelagh replies, “I’m on a date with Patrick. We have been flirting with each other for quite some time and he had asked me out.” She curls her lips around her cigarette, “Where, may I ask, is your fine-lookin’ woman?”

Both Louis and Patrick laughs into their respective beers. “Touché, Shelagh,” Louis dramatically bows down in front of her. “I suspect my woman is somewhere in this club, however neither she nor I know each other just yet.”

“I suspect the beer and the music will help you find each other,” Shelagh holds up her glass and winks, “at least for the night.”

Louis wraps his arm around Patrick’s neck, “Paddy, I swear to God, if you don’t marry this woman, then I will.”

“Believe me, I’m doing everything in my power to make that happen,” Patrick wildly grins.

“Just remember, Shelagh,” Louis throws his chin towards Patrick, “if he fucks up, I’ll be happy to help mend your broken heart.”

Shelagh stamps out her cigarette, the sweet, bitter taste of the tobacco giving her energy as she licks her lips. “If he fucks up, what makes you think that I’ll be looking for someone to mend my heart.”

Louis nearly faints to the floor, the bar top being his only dramatic savior. “I think I’m in love.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Patrick playfully pushes Louis around, his boyish smile reaching his eyes, “sod off, you old man.”

In their shuffle, both men grab onto each other, their arms reaching around for a hug. “Alright, Paddy, ol’ boy, you know my rules, drinks are on me tonight and I will not hear a word about it. I gotta get back behind the stage. You let me know if you need anything.” Louis turns to Shelagh and kisses the back of her hand once again. “You, my dear, must promise to take this old man out for a spin.”

“Are you referring to yourself?”

“Ha! Ha!” Patrick claps his hand down on Louis’ shoulder, “There’s no coming back from that one!”

“Ha. Ha.” His laugh drawls out as he rolls his eyes. He then gives them a bright smile, “You kids have fun. I’ll check back on you later.” With a final bow, he disappears behind the stage.

Patrick turns back towards the bar, “He’s truly a riot.” When she doesn’t answer him back, his brow furrows, “Are you okay?”

Shelagh sighs, “I am rather cross with you right now.” At his horrified expression, she leans in closer and adds, “You knew full well at the restaurant that our drinks would be paid for at this club.” She squares off in front of him, her hands planted firmly on his hips, “Don’t you dare think that I won’t remem—”

Whatever else she was going to say, abruptly comes to its demise when he crashes his lips onto hers, his fingers fanning along the base of her neck. Yet, just as soon as she melts into his embrace, he pulls away, just as breathless and red-cheeked as her. “Simply for the fact that I was not certain my friend would be here, I made sure we had enough alcohol to fill us before coming here.” He kisses his forehead. “That was my only deceit for the evening.”

Resting her hands on his hips, she glances up, a sneaky grin spreading across her cheeks, “All will be forgiven if you dance with me.”

With the perfect slow melody beginning its command along the dance floor, Patrick pulls her closer into his embrace and gently sways her side to side, his arm wrapping tightly, and rather possessively, around her waist. “Just as long as you don’t expect me to pick you up and twirl you around my head.”

She glances up, her eyelashes playfully fluttering, “Not in public, at least.” She presses her body against his, his reaction to her salacious meaning making her grin madly.

Allowing the gentle music to fill their silence, it is into their third song that Patrick murmurs against her temple, “I hope you are having a good time.”

“The best,” she sighs into his lapel. “I hope I have not given you cause to think otherwise,” Shelagh straightens her back in their embrace.

“No, you haven’t, it’s just…,” he looks towards the ceiling for inspiration, “it’s just, our conversation on the way here was a bit heavier than I expected.”

She had promised herself to let him take what he wanted to say at his own pace, yet, she never expected for him to hold onto it, fearful that such conversation would ruin her night out with him. “We live with so many rules. The moment you step one wee toe outside of those demarcated lines, there are scores of people ready to reprimand you. I knew that going into my profession and I am willing to accept the consequences for it. You…,” she gives him a sad, little smile, “you, being the sweet, hard working man that you are, didn’t sign up for this. You deserve a woman who knows how to conform to the rules you are constantly held to.”

He tightens his hold around her waist, “I followed the rules with Mariann, did exactly what I was supposed to do and, although I would never trade my time with her, I feel that, looking back, I was a disappointment.”

“No,” Shelagh vehemently shakes her head.

Patrick smiles, yet the lines have no chance of reaching his dear, sweet eyes. “She would of course disagree with me, but we never did such things; I never took her to jazz clubs, I never kissed her in public, I didn’t even dare kiss her before we married.” His smile falters into a grimace. “Don’t you see, by following the rules, we missed out on so much and after she died, I promised that I would never do that again.”

Capturing his cheek within her palm, she sweeps her thumb across his bottom lip, much like he had done at the beginning of their date and plants a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Just as he is about to deepen their kiss, the music from the record stops and the lights from the stage brightens. A man, in a sharp suit with slick-backed hair, comes onto the stage with open arms. The people in the venue, now filled to the max, turns their attention to the stage. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We have a great show for you this evening. Back for a limited time is the incomparable, the talented, Ms. Carmen McRae.”

Reaching for her hand, Patrick escorts Shelagh back to the bar and orders another round of beer for them.

Getting lost in the soulful music that surrounds her, Shelagh sways to the sultry beat as she leans back into the warm embrace of Patrick’s chest.  


* * *

  
“Tell me,” Shelagh slightly slurs as they make their way up the stairs to her flat, “where did you know Louis from?”

Looking both ways down the corridor before following her through, Patrick is about to tell her the story when she presses him against the closed door, the curve of her lips flirting with the edge of his jaw.

“Mmm, I like kissing you,” she murmurs, melting into his pliant body. Her fingers crawl up his chest, fanning themselves underneath the warmth of his coat, his strong heartbeat pounding against her palms. “I have a feeling that I’m going to like doing many naughty things with you.”

Patrick sighs as his head falls back against the solid wood, his big hands wrapping around her arms. “Naughty things?”

“Mmmm-hmmm…,” she nips a trail down the length of his exposed throat. “I assure you,” she pulls at his tie, “I have an extensive list,” she unbuttons the top two buttons, “of naughty things I can do just to you.” The tip of her tongue marks a succulent path across his collarbones, “All of which requires you to be naked.”

“Call me…,” he clears his throat, desire coating it, no doubt his body not wanting him to speak, but to instead act. “Call me a gentleman, but I would like to – hmmm – to, uhhh, master this specific list at a later date, particularly not when the sun is about to come up.”

“What about all that jazz with you not following rules and leading a spectacular life?” Her hand flutters down his belly, her fingers pressing along the bulging zipper of his pants. “You see?” She palms his growing erection, his breaths coming out in short pants. “Fireworks.”

Just as he pushes his hips into her needy hand, he captures her wrist and pulls her back onto safe grounds. “Not when this will be over as quickly as it began.”

“That’s where the list comes in handy,” she leans down to kiss every knuckle holding her hand hostage.

He swallows hard, the urge to give into her wild promises becoming harder and harder to resist. “There are many things I have to do today. The time I want to spend with you, to make love to you will not be enough.” He kisses the back of her hand and slips out from between her and the door. “I want to get to know your body, thoroughly, intimately. I don’t want this to be some quick shag against the wall.”

Shelagh twirls around and leans back against the now empty door. “You are a rare bird indeed, Patrick Turner.”

“I hope that’s a good thing, Shelagh Mannion.”

She wildly grins, the light from the sun starting to shine its way into her window brightens the room around them. “It is.” She rakes her eyes along his lean body, the evidence of their flirty dalliance still pressing against his zipper.

He groans as her eyes focus on a part of his pants he would rather hide. “I hope you enjoyed our date. I can assure you, that I found it to be most delightful.”

She crosses her arms along her chest and lifts her brow, “In compared to the cat lady who wanted to jump your bones.”

He buttons his shirt and straightens his tie. “Definitely more agreeable than the man who wanted you to play dead.”

“Touché, Patrick Turner.” She pushes off of the door, reaching out to help fix the tie she had a part in messing up. “Can I at least make you a cup of coffee?”

He captures her hands, “As much as I would love that, my rounds will be starting in a half hour and I still have to change into some clothes that doesn’t smell like a pack of cigarettes and stale beer.” He kisses her knuckles, “I am very much in love with you.”

She steps closer to him and kisses his cheek, “I very much loved our night together.”

“Good night, Shelagh.”

“You mean ‘good morning’,” she coyly smiles up at him.

He kisses her forehead, “Timothy finds out soon the results of his science project.”

“I’ll wait with bated breath,” she kisses his cheek one more time before stepping to the side.

Patrick smartens his jacket and gives her a boyish smile, “Goodbye.” With one more glance, he opens the door and rushes out of her flat.


	8. Chapter 8

—Knock, Knock—

Shelagh tightens her robe as she makes her way across her flat. “Who is it?”

“Doctor Turner,” calls back the familiar voice.

Quickly opening the door, she steps to the side to let him in. “Good evening, Patrick Turner.” She looks down to see his case firmly in his hand. “You’re here for business, not pleasure, I see.”

“Yes, however, my work day is finished.” After five ticks from the clock, he swiftly adds, “I can see that you will soon be out for the business side of your job.”

“Oh, really?”

He points and twirls his finger towards her chest, “Your robe is slipping.”

Immediately glancing down, Shelagh notices that the top of her white lacy negligee is poking out. Yet, instead of closing it, she leaves it be and shrugs, “I’m sure after a long day, you will appreciate the view.”

“Indubitably,” he runs his hand along his chin as his eyes continue to traverse the lines of her body.

“It’s been, what, over a week since I’ve seen you last,” she holds out her hand to invite him to make himself comfortable.

“Yes, well, no rest for the wicked I’m afraid.”

“Please, have a seat, I have to finish getting ready,” she gives him a quick peck on the cheek before disappearing into her bedroom.

“I haven’t seen you at the diner,” he calls out to her just as she drapes her robe onto her chair.

“They weren’t happy that I had to take so many days off so they replaced me. Not to worry though, I was there long enough to establish my residency.” She slips into her modest heels as she zips up the back of her dress. “Did Timothy place in his Science Fair?”

Pinning in her earrings as she makes her way into the living room, she nearly drops the back piece when she sees him holding up the second place ribbon. “Oh, how fantastic!” She claps as she settles down next to Patrick. “If it’s okay with you, I would love to take him out for some pancakes or ice cream as a celebration.”

“He would love that!” Patrick pulls out a cigarette and lights it with his lighter. “He’s been rather adamant in seeing you, especially since that kiss you gave him.”

She holds out her fingers to steal a smoke. “Like son, like father.”

“Yes, well, he was not too happy with me when I told him that we had spent some time together,” he takes his cigarette back. “You see, he has a small crush on you.”

Shelagh’s cheeks flush bright red, “Is that what you two were going on about at the Science Fair?”

“I’m afraid so,” he flicks his ashes in the tray in front of him, “however, we have come to an understanding that it would be highly improper for him to take you on one of his camping trips with the Poplar Wolf Cubs as a date.”

Leaning in closer to his ear, she murmurs, “Surely I told you,” she kisses the curved tip of his jaw, “but I love camping.” Snatching the dying cigarette from his relaxed fingers, she finishes it out before smothering it in the ashtray.

“Then I will endeavor to find a small tent and a quiet little hole for us to camp out in.” He kisses the tip of her nose, “I’m sure we would be able to get through your extensive list of naughty things.”

“Indubitably,” she kisses the corner of his mouth.

He fully turns to her and captures her lips for his own, his fingers threading along the base of her exposed neck.

—Ring, Ring—

“Bloody hell,” she mutters against his cheek, “I have to get that.” After a quick peck, she quickly makes her way to the telephone. “Hello?”

“My darling, Bernadette! It has been far too long!”

Shelagh’s smile brightens, “Hello, Lindsey.”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am at our evening together. Martin has assured me that if he likes what he sees, he is willing to negotiate pricing.”

“Fantastic! I’m sure he’ll be more than willing.” Shelagh glances over her shoulder to see that Patrick’s eyes are staring at a certain curved part of her body. “Is all good for the evening?” She leans over and pretends to shuffle through her planner.

“Peachy darling, just one hiccup. He has a late meeting that was scheduled an hour ago. Instead of meeting us up in his penthouse, why don’t we meet in the lobby bar for some much deserved drinks.”

She accidentally bumps her pencil off of the table. “That sounds marvelous.” Bending down, she slowly retrieves it with the tips of her fingers. “I shall see you there at eight sharp.”

“Be prepared tonight. I assure you, the devil will have her just desserts.”

Shelagh laughs out loud, “I’m sure you will.” Hanging up the phone, she places the pencil back in its spot and closes her book.

“Was that business or pleasure?” His voice sounds gruff.

Shelagh twirls around, “Both.”

“And that little show?”

She innocently bats her eyelashes as she sashays back towards him, “I don’t know what you mean.”  

He relaxes into the sofa, his arms wide open along the back, “You look rather ravishing tonight.”

“Oh, this old thing,” her palms slides up and down the dress that fits snug along the curve of her thighs.

“Tonight is special,” he covets her body before she settles in next to him, appreciating the small show she had given him, “you seem excited, daring even.”

“I get to work with a dear, sweet friend tonight.” Leaning forward, she pulls out her own cigarette from her pack on the table and lights it, “When we work together, it’s like there’s magic in the air.”

Patrick’s eyes widen at her implication, “You mean to tell me that there can be more than one woman?”

“You can have as many as you want at the same time,” she blows out her puff of smoke, “as long as the price is right, of course.” Flicking her thumb along the filter, she quietly murmurs, “He’s having us take on the roles of the devil and an angel.”

He lifts his brow in appreciation, “And I’m assuming from the earlier peak under your robe that you will be playing the angel tonight?”

“You’re assumption is correct, yet, being nicknamed ‘The Nun’, it’s obvious which side of the aisle I would personify in these little scenarios.” She takes another puff, “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Fish and chip with the newest edition of the Lancet.”

“What about Timothy?” She offers him the rest of her cigarette.

“With the school year coming to a close, he goes to his grandmothers house on the weekends.” He takes a few puffs of her cigarette before extinguishing it out. “Convenient when I’m called out for an emergency or if I have a date.”

“It seems like you would have a busy social calendar,” she slyly murmurs.

“I can barely keep up with it!” His arm snakes down around her shoulders, she gladly snuggles against of his chest. “Can I be honest with you?”

Settling her hand on his chest, her fingers pull at the frayed thread along the hem of his ugly tie. “You don’t like that I have to go out and be with these men.” She could tell by the resigning fall of his lungs that her assumption was correct.

“I’m jealous that this man, who obviously has enough money to pay for time with you and your friend can take this dress off of you.” He kisses the top of her head. “I know what I signed up for and I was being honest when I said that I am a patient man, however, I can’t help feeling this way.”

“You don’t have to go through this, you can walk away,” she wraps her arm around his waist, “but I know you won’t. Eventually, I will reach zero with my debt and, for now, that is my light at the end of this long, arduous tunnel.”

“I am in love with you and I won’t walk away from it, away from you.” He bites down on his bottom lip, the need to add what has been weighing on his mind presses against his tongue.

After a moment of trembling silence, Shelagh murmurs, “However?”

“The night of our date, when you had me against the door, I was… I was scared. Not of you and certainly not of what we could have done if we had continued on, but I was scared of what would happen afterwards.” He nuzzles his nose against her hair, both finding comfort in the small touch. “I don’t want to be the man you have between the men you have to fool around with. I want to be the last man you will be with.” He leans out of their embrace, confusion marring his gentle features. “Is that selfish? Prideful? Possessive? I have been battling with these feelings since getting in my car after dropping you off from our date.”

Shame coats her tongue at the selfishness of wanting to be intimate with him. She had not realized that she had made him feel uncomfortable or that it had taken its toll on his mind and spirit. “I’m sorry.” Though she can feel his stare boring into her, begging her to look at him, she refuses.

Placing his finger underneath her chin, he lifts her up. “Please, don’t be sorry. You have done nothing wrong. In fact, I should be thanking you. You have been upfront and honest with me ever since you had come up to me in the bar after the gala.”

“Please don’t thank me, not when I’m about to spend an evening with a man who has bought the rights to my body.” Her eyes casts down, meekly, never wanting to see his true feelings marring his handsome features after such a statement.

“It’s not going to work, you know.” When she glances back up, confusion dipping along her brow, he smiles as gentle as the summer wind. “Those little comments will never push me away. I know full well about the economics of your profession. I just… I just want us to wait before we make love.”

“I understand,” she nuzzles her cheek into his palm. “The last thing I would ever want you to feel is either cheap or used.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“When I am with a client, depending on the situation, yes.” She kisses the pad of his thumb when she sees his eyes wilt. “However with you, I never feel that way. You lift me up in such a way that I had never experienced before with a man.” She gives him a small smile, “You’re becoming quite an addiction, Patrick Turner.”

“Good. Pleasing you has become an addiction of my own.” He kisses the corner of her mouth, like she had done to him so many times before. “I want to make you happy without having to depend of sex, but I want us to continue to kiss and touch and explore.” He pulls back, just a small inch, “Is that asking too much?”

“I like kissing you.” She plants little pecks along his jaw, once again getting cozy within the warmth of his chest. “I would like for us to touch and explore our bodies. We can go slow or at your own pace and we can make love once I have finished my debt.” She picks at his tie, the sound of his heartbeat mesmerizing her. “Or we can wait a little longer, if you wish.”

“The moment when there are no more men, will be the best time.” He wraps his hand around the one on his chest. “I’m so glad we took the time to talk about—”

“Shit!” Squirming out of his embrace, Shelagh stumbles over to the coat rack. “My bus will be here soon! And I still have to walk down to the Middleton stop.” She threads her arms through her coat as she picks up both her umbrella and purse.

Quickly standing up and gathering his things, he follows her out the door. “I’m parked down on Maridian. Do you mind the company?”

"I look forward to it," she smiles as they file out into the hall. As they make their way down the street, their shadows following closely behind, Shelagh softly murmurs, “After tonight, I’ll be down to one hundred, seventy-four pounds owed.”

Patrick’s brow wrinkles, “Is that good?”

She tips her head side to side, “It’s what I would usually make in two weeks, maybe a bit more. Whatever I make from commission goes towards the debt.”

“And, I’m assuming, you put some of that money aside for basic expenses,” he reasons as they stop to let a car go by.

“For the most part, yes.” Once they had crossed, she adds, “I am saving up bits and pieces whenever I can. In fact, the money I had made from the diner went directly to that small savings account.”

“I’ve been doing the same, except, there was a separate account made ten years ago when Timothy was born for him to go to school.” 

Making it to her bus stop with two minutes to spare, Shelagh turns towards Patrick, her smile reaching all the way up to her shimmering eyes. “We made it! I’m sorry I had to abruptly cut our time short.”

“That’s okay,” he pulls out his pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. “We had a good talk.”

“We did.” She notices her bus turning the corner. “I’ll think about Timothy’s surprise and I’ll call you to set something up. Would you mind too terribly if we celebrated on Sunday?”

He shuffles his case into his other hand, “We will both look forward to it.”

Just before the bus stops, Shelagh leans in and gives a peck on the cheek. “Have a good evening, Patrick Turner.”

 

* * *

 

“Hello Bernadette,” Shelagh smiles into the rim of her wine glass just before turning to the soft voice behind her. “Looking to die for, impeccable to the bloody T.” Both women lean forward to give each other a friendly peck on the cheek.

“Lindsey, looking devilishly smashing as always. Come, sit,” Shelagh points down to the chair next to her at the bar, “we still have time before our meeting.”

“It’s been a long time since I have seen you last.” She glances up at the bartender, “Dirty martini please.”

“It has. We haven’t had a double since ‘all limbs and no fingers’ guy a few months back.” Shelagh leans in, “I was starting to miss it.”

Lindsey snorts as the bartender drops off her drink. Waiting for him to walk away from their little secluded corner in the busy bar, she quietly exclaims, “You’re telling me! I was starting to make it an option.” At Shelagh’s surprised brow, Lindsey shakes her head, “I thought no one had taken the bite, but I must have made some sort of impression.”

“Is that how we got this booking?”

Lindsey nods as she digs a cigarette out from her purse. “You want one?” She pulls another one when Shelagh nods. “He’s one of my regulars who is curious about having two women.”

Shelagh takes her first puff, “And the costumes?”

“All his fantasy,” she exhales with her smoke. “Being a reformed Catholic boy, he had wanted nuns, so I instantly thought of you.” She takes another drag, “You know, I had a helluva time getting permission from Liz. She wanted me to pair up with Natalie, but I was adamant that I wanted you.”

Shelagh nods, not surprised to hear this little tidbit of information. “I want to get out and Liz is just making it hard for me.”

“Her prized possession? Of course she’s going to make it hard. You’re good business, being a former nun and all.” Lindsey takes a sip of her drink, “There have been rumors, between the girls of course, but it’s still rather shocking to hear.”

“There’s always rumors, especially with this profession.”

Lindsey takes a slow drag before leaning in and murmuring, “Well, rumor has it, is that while you were recuperating from your “illness” from a bad customer, you had found a man outside of these proverbial hotel walls.”

 _Funny_ , she silently mutters, _during my recuperation from James’ back hand, I had only seen Patrick once and that was when he conducted his exam_. “He’s a friend and that is all.”

“Yes, well, Liz has been giving us the riot act ever since, telling us to steer clear from making friends with men who are not our clients.” Lindsey kills the cigarette in the ashtray. “Is he cute?” When Shelagh meekly shrugs her shoulders, Lindsey beseeches, “Oh, come on now! You’ve got to tell me, please?”

“He’s… he’s…,” Shelagh sighs and takes a sip of her wine, “he’s quite handsome.” A dazed heaviness descends upon her shoulders under the memory of Patrick’s hazel eyes and the touch of his lips. “He has a son who painted me a picture.” She runs her thumb nail along the filter of her dying cigarette. “They are both quite the pair.”

“Oh bloody hell!” Getting some not-so-nice stares from the other patrons, Lindsey leans in a quietly exclaims, “You’re in love with him!”

“No!” Shelagh extinguishes her cigarette already wishing for another. “No.” She takes her last sip of wine. “No.”

“You can deny it all you want, but it’s written all over your face.” Lindsey just shakes her head. “Does he know what you do for a living?”

Feeling her hands get antsy in her lap, Shelagh asks, “Do you have another cigarette?”

Lindsey reaches into her bag, “Only if you tell me if he knows.”

Shelagh sighs, “He knows. He found out when we had seen each other at a party I had gone to with one of my customers. James had bragged about my services to him and, when he saw me, he added the two together.” She lights her cigarette, taking a blessed puff to steal her nerves. “He wants us to be together and he says that he’s patient, however, he gets jealous at the thought of me being with another man, especially after we have spent time together.”

“Shelagh…,” Lindsey looks to her with pity darkening across her eyes.

“I know...,” Shelagh sighs under her breath, “he’s a wonderful man; patient, kind, and he makes me laugh.” She plays with the corner of the napkin, “I really like him, but with a debt over my head, I know I have to be cautious.”

“And with Liz, how much are you in for?” Lindsey finishes the rest of her drink and signals the bartender.

“As of tonight , one seventy-four.”

“Shit,” Lindsey gives the bartender cash, “this is for both of our bills. Keep the change.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to,” they make their way towards the lobby.

“You’re one seventy-four in. The least I can do is spring for one glass of wine.” Lindsey gives a gentle smile as she tucks a strand of Bernadette’s hair behind her ear. “Relax my darling. You will make enough money and if my guy is feeling generous tonight, maybe we can negotiate a regular playtime, just the three of us.”

Shelagh returns the smile, yet it doesn’t fully reach her eyes – not like it used to when she got to spend nights with Lindsey. “To have multiple nights with you would be heaven indeed.”

Lindsey kisses both of her cheeks, “The Sisters of Heaven and Hell are back again, god save the gentleman’s soul. What do you say? Who will prevail tonight?”

“Good always wins.”

“Yes, but it’s more fun to sin.” The doors to the lift open, inviting them down the silent hallway. “Our usual bet? First one to make him come will buy the other a drink down at the bar?”

Shelagh shrugs off her coat, “Prepare to loose.”

“Ahhh…,” Lindsey places her coat over her arm, “there’s the Bernadette we all know and love.” Knocking, the door opens to a gentleman with a drink in his hand.

“Ladies,” stepping back, Martin leers at both women as they walk by. “My, my, Lindsey. You picked an impeccable little angel.”

Lindsey slyly grins, “Lets see if we can make a devil out of her, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

“Cheers to another successful night!” Both women raise their glasses and clink, the bedsheet falling further down to their waist.

Sipping the sweet champagne, Shelagh takes a deep breath and murmurs, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Oh, come now,” Lindsey grabs the bottle by its neck and pours more into both of their flutes, “live a little, why don’t you. We are in a posh penthouse,” she motions towards the window, champagne spilling onto the sheet, “with views of London as far as the eye can see.” She places the nearly empty bottle back into the ice, “Plus, we are getting paid to sit here in this nice bed, naked and sweaty from numerous pleasurable activities, to drink champagne.”

“I know that,” Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, “but you know I don’t like drinking with a client.”

“That said client just made you orgasm with his dick not even ten minutes ago, with the promise of more after he finishes the business he has to take care of.” Lindsey pushes Shelagh’s glass towards her mouth. “Now drink up and relax.”

As Shelagh tips back her glass, memories of the night so far slips through her mind just as easily and carefree as champagne flowing through her system. “You picked up a lucky one.”

“He’s a genius,” Lindsey shrugs her shoulders, “a freak of nature, I assure you.”

“And he had never done a threesome before?” Shelagh shakes her head in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You saw him.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out two cigarettes. “He was extremely distracted between the both of us. It wasn’t until the end that we found our groove.” She lights both with her lighter, “Now that he’s a bit more comfortable with it, I’m going to try and convince him to make this a regular thing, if that’s okay with you?”

Shelagh nods vigorously, the idea of reaching her goal becoming more obtainable within a reasonable amount of time.

“That’s what I thought,” Lindsey flicks her ashes into the ashtray, “now, tell me all about Mr. Handsome and his son.”

A giddiness flutters wildly in her belly; his gentle eyes, the warmth of his body pressed against her own, the way his smile carries all the way up to his floppy hair. “I met him through my job as a waitress.”

“At that dinky diner?”

“Yes. He would come in everyday for breakfast.” Shelagh finishes the rest of her champagne and holds out her glass for Lindsey to refill it. “It started out innocent enough – small talk here and there, a lot of smiles between the both of us. Then, our platonic relationship had somehow morphed into what we have now.”

Lindsey pours the rest of the champagne, “What does he do?” When Shelagh stalls, she exclaims, “I’m not going to look him up.”

“No, I know you won’t.” She takes a puff and blows out her smoke before murmuring, “He’s a GP in Poplar.”

“And he’s a widow?”

“With a ten year old son.” Shelagh finishes out her cigarette with slight hazy smile. “Timothy had just won second place at his Science Fair. I was planning on taking him out to get ice cream or…,” she taps her finger against her lips, “or maybe some pancakes. He absolutely adores pancakes. I don’t know. I keep going back and forth between the two.” As silence captures the room, she looks over to her bedmate to find her staring, her eyes in a perplexing state of disbelief. “What’s wrong?”

“How do you do it?” Lindsey takes both glasses and settles them next to the empty bottle. “How do you have the energy to take on both this job and being in a relationship with him? But more importantly, how in the hell does he put up with you going out and fucking men as your job?”

“I’ve tried pushing him away, even when he knew about this job, but he refused. He knows about the debt and he says that he will wait.” Shelagh sighs as her fingers fidgets in her lap. “He’s funny and smart, terribly old-fashioned, and the worse dresser in the world.”

“Have you fucked him, yet?” At Shelagh’s deadpan stare, Lindsey rolls her eyes and dramatically amends, “Fine, fine; have you made looove to him yet?”

“Of course we haven’t, hence the old-fashioned bit, but I don’t mind whatsoever.”

“What if he’s wretched in the sack? You know,” Lindsey snatches her pack of cigarettes off of the bedside table, “you are terribly needy with it comes to satisfaction.”

“You know,” a small sting of pain slices through her throat, “I would have thought that you of all people would understand. Combined, we have been through some truly wretched things, yet, all you can think about is if he is good in bed?”

“No, my beautiful darling, that is not all I think about, but I have to admit that I am concerned that you have fallen hard for this man, whom you hardly know, on a slight whim.” Lindsey flicks her lighter, “Love, even at its purest, can do more harm than good.” She takes a few puffs before handing it over to Shelagh. “I just want to make sure that you are thinking this through.”

“The night he had found out about this job, I expected him to be disgusted by me, to run away from me as if I am the plague itself. Then he reached out with a gentle hand, far gentler than any other hand since my mother passed away, and kissed my cheek. No other kiss, no other touch has ever left me as breathless as his.” She bites down on her bottom lip, “I don’t want to ever let that go.”

“Does he know this?”

She presses her lips together in a fine line, “Bits and pieces.”

“Then talk to him; tell him about this job and your past life and everything in between.” Lindsey lifts her hand and draw her finger along her brow to push back a strand of hair. “Silence will destroy any relationship you wish to have with him and you know that.” Leaning out of the embrace, she reaches for the forgotten cigarette, “Now, you said that you wanted to take the boy out for ice cream. There’s no place better than that small little shack next to the Brighton pier.”

Shelagh gives her a bright smile, “That’s an excellent idea.” Her fingers reach out and skim along Lindsey’s collarbone, “Thank you, for everything.”

“Now that all is settled,” Martin swaggers up to them, “let’s say we go back to where we left off.” Volleying between the two women, his brow furrows and asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Peachy darling,” Lindsey slips her confident bravado back on, “we were just discussing how best to punish you for making us wait.” Fluttering her eyelashes, she sighs, “I hope you are not partial to those curtain ties.”

He gives them both a sly grin, “And whom, may I ask, is winning the fight; heaven or hell?”

“You should know by now,” Lindsey murmurs as both her and Shelagh crawl to the edge of the bed, “you will win every time.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all those who continue to follow this story!! Without you, this would have never seen the light of day! :)

“Ms. Shelagh!” Timothy ran up to the young woman and gave her hug around her waist.

“There’s the future scientist or impressionist!” Shelagh wraps her arms around the young man’s shoulders. “Are you excited for out little outing?”

“Where are we going? Where are we going?” Timothy starts bouncing on his feet in excitement. “Dad has been unusually quiet when it comes to conversations about my surprise and, while he says he doesn’t know what it is, I can tell that he’s lying.”

“Oy!” Patrick comes down from the stairs.

Shelagh covers her laugh with her hand at the sight of both father and son glaring at each other in jest. “Rest assure, Master Turner, your instincts are spot on.” Timothy turns to her with a confused scowl. “Your dad knew what the outing was, however, I swore him to secrecy, so if you are going to blame anyone, it might as well be me.”

“Shall we tell the young lad his prize or should we torture him some more?” Patrick deviously wiggles his eyebrows.

“Hmm,” Shelagh swoons, “such a hard decision to make, however, I think we should air on the side of leisure. He did win second place in the Science Fair contest.” With a silent nod from Patrick, she gleefully confesses, “We are taking you to Brighton for the day!”

Timothy twirls around to his dad, “Really, dad, really? You have the day off and everything? Are we taking to train? Can we get an ice cream while we are there? Are we going to go to the pier?”

Patrick holds up his hands to help tame the boy’s infectious excitement, “Woah! Really, we are all going. I have the entire day off. We are taking a train to there and back. Of course we will get ice cream, which will be a treat from Ms. Shelagh. We will be eating lunch at the pier and, after, we will be heading back here.” He cocks his eyebrow, “Did I miss anything?”

Shelagh speaks up with a wink towards the excited boy, “Don’t forget the carousel.”

Patrick smacks the top of his head, “Oh, yes, how foolish of me! Let’s not forget the carousel ride. Now we just have to – ohh!” Patrick looks down to his son squeezing his arms around his waist. Leaning down, his kisses the top of his head, much like he used to do when he was a baby being held in his arms.

“I love you, dad,” Timothy murmurs against his father’s button up shirt.

Patrick kisses the top of his son’s head again and then glances up to Shelagh. _Thank you_ he silently mouths to her.

She gives him a bright smile and steps back to allow both father and son their moment to bond with each other.

Patrick is the first to pull back, “Let’s not doddle, we have a train to catch.” He runs his fingers through to ruffle Timothy’s hair before opening the front door.

Timothy is the first to burst out, excited shouts of glee sounding off the brick buildings.

 

* * *

 

“I love train rides,” Shelagh leans back in her seat, contentment seen from the smile that stretches along her cheeks. She tilts her head to the side, “Do you like train rides?”

Patrick squirms in his seat, unable to get comfortable. “Yes and no. I used to love them growing up,” he stares down at his clasped hands between his knees, “however, since the war, I lost my infatuation for them.”

She stares at him, the ghosts of his past blanketing his shoulders; no doubt to her that the horrors he had seen during the war running through his mind.

At that moment, the image of her brothers come to her memory, their boyish laughter marred by blood and disfigurement. Then, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, she looks over to see Timothy pressed against the window with another little boy. With their eyes lit with imagination and wonderment, she imagines them talking about far off places and heroic battles. “Timothy is enjoying himself.”

“And we haven’t made it to Brighton with the promise of ice creams and carousel rides.” Shelagh turns back to him, his memories of battles long ago shelved back into a dark corner.

“Thank you for my train ticket. Shall I pay you back or would you prefer for me to buy you an ice cream cone as well?”

“With sprinkles?”

She becomes hypnotized by the lines of his smile reaching towards his eyes. “And chocolate sauce if you are a good boy.”

Glancing around the train car, he leans in and murmurs, “And if I’m not?”

“Then I shall have no choice but to give your sprinkles and chocolate sauce to Timothy,” she leans in closer, the tips of their noses almost touching, “while we have a a pint of ale.”

“I shall endeavor to be as naughty as propriety will dictate,” he settles back into his seat.

“May the lord help us.” She gives him a cheeky smile before laying back and closing her eyes, the movement of the train lulling her to relax her body.

“You look rather lovely today.”

Shelagh peeks open her eyes to see Patrick’s crooked smile. Lifting herself up, she rakes her eyes along his body. The khaki colored trousers and the crisp white shirt doing wonders while the opened two buttons allows her to view a small patch of skin. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise at her husky words. “I shall be rather bold when I say that we seem to pair up rather nicely.” Giving the train car another once over, he captures her hand and thread his fingers through hers. “Don’t you agree?”

She twists her wrist around so that their palms are kissing each other, “I do.”

 

* * *

 

“Dad? Can I go over there to play some games?” Timothy’s bright eyes and high energy is infectious as Shelagh looks onto his chocolate covered cheeks.

“Here,” she brings out her handkerchief from her purse, “you have some sauce on your face.” Wiping it away much to the duress of an excitable boy, she is able to get all of it before he runs off with a pocket full of coins.

“You know,” Patrick mutters as he looks after his boy running to one of the machines, “I wasn’t so sure about this – what do they call this?”

“An arcade.”

He furrows his brow in confusion, “Isn’t that an area with a lot of shops?”

“Yes, but it is also what you call this; a room with fun games to waste your money on,” she takes a deep breath in, the taste of the salty air on the tip of her tongue, “isn’t it grand?”

“The beer is rather nice,” he holds up his mug, “but the company is the best part.”

Shelagh holds up her mug as well, “here, here,” the glasses clink and they both take a sip. “Have you had a good time?”

“We haven’t had a grand time like this since Mariann had brought home a stray kitten.”

Shelagh rapidly blinks, “My, my, doctor. Are you as allergic to fun as you are to feline pets?”

“Quite the opposite, yet I haven’t seen Timothy enjoy himself since that day.” He runs his finger along the rim of his glass. “Soon after having to give the kitten to a loving family, Mariann started to become ill.”

Heaviness drapes over them at the thought of the deceased wife and mother. Shelagh lays her hand over his arm and murmurs, “I’m sure she is happy that you both are having a good time.”

He covers her hand, “All thanks to you.”

“You give me too much credit,” she blushes, “I just planned a day to celebrate Timothy’s accomplishment.”

He gently squeezes her fingers, “You don’t give yourself enough credit. With your help, he has had the most wonderful day.” He pats her hand before pulling away. “Have you been here before?”

“Three times before; once with my brothers and twice with a friend of mine.”

Biting down on his bottom lip, he takes a swig of beer and asks, “A male friend?”

Shelagh has a hard time keeping a straight face, “No, I came with one of my friends who happens to be a woman. She had never been and it was her birthday.”

He looks everywhere but at her, shame and embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “Oh, I’m sorry for assuming.”

“It’s alright,” she smiles, “in your defense, she also works for Elizabeth.”

“Oh! She’s a… she… you… uhh, you work together?”

The awkwardness of his question has her giggling into the rim of her beer. “Yes, we sometimes work together.” She steals herself a drink before leaning in and murmuring under her breath, “We are usually paired together if a customers wants two.”

“Oh,” his cheeks are burning a fiery red.

“Or more,” she wiggles her eyebrows before returning back to her beer.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Don’t worry Patrick, it’s only been us two.” She reaches out and trails her thumb along the crease of his elbow. “I was only kidding around.” Her smile dazzles against the bright afternoon sun.

“Bernadette?”

That name, her name she only uses with clients and coworkers, sends a bucket of ice water down her spine. The only thing not sending her into a tailspin at this precise moment is the familiar voice. She takes a deep breath and turns to the woman they had been previously talking about, “Lindsey! What a surprise!”

“The surprise is all mine,” her eyes deviates to the man standing next to Shelagh. “I am here with Martin.”

Panic now is starting to set in at the thought of a client seeing her with another man.

Sensing this, Lindsey places her hand over Shelagh’s. “He went off to get an ice cream down the pier.” She turns to the stranger and extends her hand out, “Hi, I’m Lindsey.”

Patrick’s eyes tick back and forth between the women, before taking her hand. “Patrick Turner.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Patrick.” She opens her purse and pulls out a few coins, “I hate to ask this of you, but could you please be a doll and order some popcorn for me.”

“Lindsey! He’s my friend, not some butler.”

Sensing the stress in her voice, he leans in and kisses her temple. “It’s alright, my dear.” He gives Lindsey back her money, “I’ll add it to my tab.” With a small smile, he walks back to the concessions counter.

“Are you really here with Martin?”

“I’m afraid so,” Lindsey picks up the mug of beer, takes a sip from it and then scowls at the bitterness. “Ugh! I could never get into the taste of beer.”

Shelagh clutches Lindsey’s elbow out of sheer desperation, “Please tell me you had a good cover story.”

She smiles and tips her shoulders, “Don’t I always? I had told him that you were here with your widowed brother and nephew. He bought it hook, line, and sinker.” She takes another sip. “He was even willing to buy the little man a ninety-nine, but I had convinced him that he had already had such sweets.” She finishes off the beer in one gulp. “Your friend is rather handsome.”

“Don’t even start,” Shelagh growls through her fingers covering her mouth.

“What?!” She bats her eyes with innocence, “He is positively cute as a button. No wonder you fell for him. He screams normalcy.”

“Are you going to tell Liz?”

Lindsey shakes her head, “Of course not. You deserve to be happy.” She picks up Patrick’s beer and takes a sip. “And don’t worry about Martin. I’ll make sure he keeps it under wraps as well.” She finishes off his beer as well. “I was actually not going to come over, however, Martin just informed me of a few things I thought you should know.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, a few of his coworkers are looking for a few entertainers for the evening in a fortnight. If you play your cards right, I’m sure you’ll make at least thirty pounds in commission.”

“That’ll bring me down to one twenty-two,” Shelagh whispers under her breath. “Count me in.” She gives a soft smile, “Thank you for the heads up.”

Lindsey shrugs her shoulders, “I thought you would have liked to have known.” She peeks over through her peripheral side, “Have you ever done parties like this before?” At the shake of her head, she pats her arm, “No worries, we can meet up for dinner one night and I can give some advice.” The idea of having a night alone with each other makes her eyes sparkle in mirth.

Shelagh glances over her friends shoulder to see that both father and son are still distracted, “That would be most helpful.”

“Oh, I haven’t even told you the best news of all,” Lindsey bites down on her lip, a tall tell sign to Shelagh that if she were a little girl, she would be bouncing on her toes in excitement. “Martin has agreed to make our double act a regular night.”

“Really?!” Shelagh squeaks. Checking her surroundings once again, she leans in and murmurs, “That is the best news. Hopefully, I’ll have my debt paid within a few months.”

“That’s the idea,” Lindsey grins. She takes another sip of Patrick’s beer, “Martin enjoyed himself too much to have it be a one time deal. He likes you a lot, especially that talented tongue of yours.”

Shelagh looks back over to Patrick, the idea of her looks and her oral skills being the only quality of worth sickens her to her stomach, she brightens when he turns around and winks at her.

“Has your friend gone on any more dates?”

“Not that I know of.” Shelagh tears her eyes away from Patrick’s backside. “Why?”

Lindsey gives her friend a coy grin, “Do you think he is in need of some lessons?”

“Some les—” Realization knocks against Shelagh’s head, “No! He doesn’t need lessons, I’m sure he’s just fine.”

Lindsey leans in over the table, secure that their small corner is quiet from prying ears, “I’m sure when the time comes, making love will never be a problem, but are you positive he will know how to pleasure you?” She lifts her brow in mirth, “If memory serves me correctly, you are quite vivacious.”

“He will be beautiful and wonderful in that area of our relationship!” Shelagh’s brow scrunches in stubbornness. “Besides, I will never allow him to pay for any type of service.”

She arches her brow in confusion, “Who said anything about paying? I was going to ask him on a date.”

“And where will he take you on this date?”

“To my apartment, of course. You know my lasagna is to die for as well as my martinis.” She winks at Shelagh’s horrified expression. “Come on, you are willing to let him date around. At least now he’s learning some valuable lessons.”

Shelagh rolls her eyes, “I don’t even know if he’ll go for it.” She holds up a finger to help pacify the glee radiating off of Lindsey’s face, “I’m not going to—”

Seeing Patrick return, Lindsey reaches out for her popcorn box, “Would you like to go on a date with me, Patrick?”

Surprised infuses with confusion at the brash request. “Umm, I, umm, I don’t…”

“He is rather well spoken.” She openly rakes her eyes along his body as she throws a few popcorn pieces in her mouth. “You know about our work, correct?”

“Lindsey!” Shelagh huffs under her breath, glancing over at Timothy to make sure he is still distracted by the games.

“Yes, I do,” Patrick murmurs.

“Well then I’m going to be up front with you, if you don’t mind,” she takes Shelagh’s full mug and takes a sip.

“As long as I’m afforded the same opportunities,” Patrick bites back.

She arches her brow, “Of course. This date would be perfectly mutual between the three of us. Bernadette here is a good friend of mine. She has helped me out of numerous tight spots with no recourse, no reward as a motive. I respect her far more than any other woman I have worked with and there have been a lot.” She sets both her popcorn and beer down onto the table. “All that’s in this date will be my famous lasagna, a fantastic martini if you are so inclined, and a few pointers on my friend here.”

Patrick looks to Shelagh, curiosity winning out along his features. “Shall I pay for your time?”

“Not unless you want to make Bernadette angry at you.” Lindsey gives both of them a small smile. “Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to afford me.”

“Lindsey…,” Shelagh shakes her head, still keeping an eye on Timothy.

“You two talk about it and then let me know. She knows exactly what will be in store for you if you decide to take me up on that date.” She takes one more handful of popcorn, “I have to get back to Martin. I hope you three will have a good evening.” She turns to Shelagh, “I’ll call you within the week, love.” With a nod of her head, she walks out of the arcade.

“Shelagh, what in the—”

“Hey dad!” Timothy bounds up to them, his pockets considerably lighter and a lot less jingly. “Is it time for the carousel ride yet?” He volleys between the two adults, noticing the tension between them. “Am I still allowed to ride the carousel?”

“Of course! I’m all paid up here,” Patrick smiles. He holds out his arm for Shelagh to take and walks them both back out onto the pier. “But then, after that, it’ll be time for us to go back to the train station.”

“Okay,” Timothy shouts as he runs off in front of them.

“Patrick, I’m so—”

“Don’t worry, Shelagh. We’ll talk about it when we get back home.” He rewards her nerves with a gentle smile as the sun beats down onto the back of their necks.

 

* * *

 

Opening the door to his flat, Shelagh widens it to allow Patrick to come through with a sleeping Timothy in his arms.

“Let me put him down in his room,” he begins to climb the stairs. “Make yourself comfortable in the parlor.”

Watching him disappear within the soft shadows of his home, Shelagh closes the door and makes her way back towards the parlor where she makes herself busy by tidying up a bit.

“You know it’s been a good day when he is completely knackered out.” Patrick comes through just as she sits down with one of the Lancets. “I’m sorry for the mess.”

Shelagh smiles, “It’s okay. I was looking for a Superman comic book, but I settled with one of these,” she hold up his journal of choice.

Patrick settles down next to her. Threading his arm around her shoulders, he tucks her against his body and kisses the top of her head. “Are you okay? You have been rather quite since meeting your friend Lindsey.”

“It was a big shock,” she pulls away, just slightly, “the man she was with is a client that we had both been with. He recognized me and had grown curious about you and Timothy. I don’t want my night job and my daytime adventures with you and Timothy mixing.”

“Hence why you live in Poplar.”

Shelagh sighs, “Yes. Mixing business with pleasure never goes well.”

“And which am I; business or pleasure?”

He had said it in jest, yet she can see that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes like it had been the whole day. “Pleasure, of course, I would never allow you to pay for me.”

“And this date with Lindsey?”

Shelagh turns to Patrick and gives him her full attention. “She is rather forward, but what you see is what you get. She never minces her words.” She bites down on her bottom lip before murmuring, “She wants to give you lessons.”

Patrick’s brow furrows in confusion, “Lessons? In what?”

Embarrassment and shame has Shelagh hanging her head, her cheeks burning fiery red. _How can I tell him? I don’t want him to think that I prefer this job over him._

He reaches out with his finger and lifts her chin, gently smiling when she finally looks at him. “You had once told me that it was your choice to go into this profession. You enjoy sex.”

“Not as much as I enjoy spending time with you and Timothy,” she beseeches with wide eyes. “It’s just—”

“I am not as experienced as you are,” he runs his thumb along her cheek, her heart pounding against her rib cage at the simple touch. “The only woman I have been with is Mariann. I had not even kissed another woman other than you. All that I have learned, all that I know is from my time with Mariann and the few studies I have read on the subject.”

She closes her eyes and nuzzles into his palm, all thoughts of conversations on the inner workings of prostitution falling to the wayside. “What you had with Mariann is beautiful and I don’t wish for it to be marred.”

“I want to make you happy,” he kisses her forehead, “I’ll go on a date with her, but I won’t have sex with her.”

She glances up to him, their lips barely a breath away, “I can’t make the same promise.”

He kisses the tip of her nose, “Not with one sixty-one still hanging over your head.”

“How can you be so…,” she sighs when he continues to trail along her cheek with his lips, tilting her head to encourage him to reach a spot she has never allowed any man before him. “So… so… nonchalant."

“I’m in love with you, remember?” His fingers thread through her hair, driving the silky strands down around her cheeks while he kisses her pulse point. Goosebumps erupt along every inch of her skin, excited at the prospect of tasting more of him than his love-stained lips. “And the moment you have cleared your debt, I shall take you back to Brighton, just the two of us.”

Her nails scratch along the back of his neck, silently begging him to continue to do what he’s doing. “And shall we make love that night?”

He leans out of their embrace, a smug grin lining his brightly colored cheeks, “Only if you want to.”

Taking a deep breath, the electricity that sizzles along her skin makes her shiver under the promise of not only his love, but the freedom he is willing to give her. “I don’t deserve you.”

Pulling her towards him, he captures her lips in a chaste kiss. “You deserve love and happiness; we both do.” He kisses her once again. And again. And again. And again. “It’s getting late,” he murmurs against her lips, unable to pull away from her just yet.

Her cheeks flame as his thumbs caress her bare collar bones, the desire to feel his body, his weight, on top of her makes her feel as if she is drowning.

Ever since he had told her that he wanted to take their relationship slow, she has made a conscious effort to keep her ravenous lust innocent with small kisses here and there. Yet, right here, right at this moment, the need to feel his bare skin under the tips of her fingers is blissfully pressing against her sternum. “Do you wish for me to leave?” The tips of her fingers draw nonsensical lines along his thigh until she reaches the bulge pressing against the inseam of his pants.

“Mmm…,” his kisses become hungry, his fingers runs through her hair, yet, he slows to a crawling speed. “I would like our first time together to be at Brighton; no more debt, no more men, just me and you.”

She relishes in the gentle way he tugs on her hair, her actions becoming bolder as she palms him with the heel of her hand. “There are other things we can do that do not involve penetration.”

He thrusts his hips against her hand, the pressure becoming too overwhelming. Capturing her wrist, he pushes it down further towards his knee. “I will embarrass myself in front of you,” he dives in and kisses the same pulse point that he had just discovered. “It has been a long time since I have been with a woman.”

“But I want to touch you,” her fingers caress the open buttons of his shirt, “to feel you.”

“Bloody hell,” he pulls away completely, slumping against the cushions of the sofa. He slams his eyes shut and takes deep, even breaths. When he has calmed himself down, he opens his eyes and murmurs, “You are magnificent and, lord knows I want to touch you as well, however I want us to take our time with each other.” He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles. “I hope you don’t mind that I want to wait.”

She pulls his hand towards her and kisses his knuckles. “I have something to look forward to; a light at the end of the tunnel, if you will.”

He stands from the sofa and pulls her up next to him. “I look forward to that day.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and presses herself against his body, addicted to the fission between their charged bodies. “As do I.” She kisses the tip of his nose. “I can see myself out.” She kisses the top of his lip. “Goodnight.” She crashes her lips fully onto his before breathlessly pulling away completely. “Goodnight.” She pieces back her hair into her barrette.

“You already said that,” he darkly murmurs as he watches her shakily walk out of the room.

“Oh, and Patrick,” she turns to him just as she reaches the hallway leading to the front door, “our first time will be quick and hard, preferably against a sturdy door or table.” She winks before twirling back towards the door. Using the wall to steady herself under the watchful eye of the man behind her, she gathers her coat and walks out into the street.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait on this one, however, there is a nice long chapter for your troubles! :)

“Please tell me,” Lindsey opens the door wider to allow Shelagh to walk into her flat, “please tell me he is taking me up on the date.”

“He said yes to the date,” Shelagh shrugs off her coat as Lindsey claps for joy, “however, there will be no sex.”

Lindsey’s brow furrows, “Says who?”

“He said it, with no help or encouragement from me, so you can stop giving me the death glare, thank you very much,” Shelagh settles down onto the sofa. “And then we followed our conversation up with a rather invigorating snogging session.”

“Not as old-fashioned as you had painted a few weeks ago,” Lindsey sits down next to Shelagh. “Did you two finally have sex?”

“Of course not!” Shelagh pulls out her pack of cigarettes before throwing her purse onto the coffee table. “I was willing, however, he wants us to wait until my debt is paid.”

“Makes sense,” Lindsey lights the cigarettes for both of them, “he doesn’t want to be the man between jobs. He wants to be the last one, the only one.”

“He said the exact same thing!”

“It’s not wholly surprising, the first rule of thumb with our job is that we are supposed to make each man feel as if he is the only one. Patrick seems smart enough to know that he’s not the only one and will never be the only one until your debt is paid.” She flicks her ask into the tray in between them. “He is just trying to protect himself if things don’t work out.”

“I hope things do work out,” Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, “I like him.”

“Of course you do, my darling,” Lindsey reaches out and settles her hand on Shelagh’s knee. “I would venture to say that you are in love with him.”

“So, when will you have Patrick over?” Shelagh takes a puff, glad to change the subject, not wanting to expose her true feelings just yet.

“My week is filled, however, I have an opening next Tuesday and Friday, depending on his schedule, of course, and I have a few openings the following week.”

“Tuesday’s are his clinic days, he’ll be exhausted. Pending an emergency, he will have Friday evening off.” Shelagh picks at the end of her cigarette before exstinguishing it.

“Do you want me to have him over on Friday?” When Shelagh opens her mouth, a nonchalant answer on the tip of her tongue, Lindsey interrupts, “Be honest now.”

“I’m meeting with Bernard that Friday,” Shelagh quietly confesses to her jittery palms.

“Ahh, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is returning from Paris, I see.”

“He will be in town for a business trip and he has a free day on Friday.” Shelagh stares at the pack of cigarettes, her fingers itching to reach out and take one. “We are meeting up for lunch and I will be with him for the remainder of the evening.”

“He had tempted you to go with him to Paris, as his companion of course, but you could have been living the Parisian life.” Lindsey reaches for the pack and offers it to Shelagh. “For one moment, I thought you were going to go with him.”

“For longer than a moment, I thought I was going to go with him as well, but then…,” she runs the edge of her nail along the end of the filter.

“You wouldn’t have met Patrick,” Lindsey finishes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bernard would have provided for you and, maybe for a few minutes, he would have made you feel happy, but you would have never known what it’s like to love.”

“Is it really that obvious,” a lone tear marking a slow path down her cheeks.

“Love is a beautiful color on you,” Lindsey wipes Shelagh’s tear with the pad of her thumb, “and the only person who is capable of making you feel that way is a widowed doctor in the poorest district of London.”

“I am in love with him and it scares the hell out of me. I’m constantly scared that he’s going to see that his life is better without all of my baggage weighing him down.”

“Have you talked to him about your past, your reasons for taking this job in the first place?” When Shelagh shakes her head, Lindsey let’s out a frustrated sigh, “Come on, Shelagh! You’ve got to be up front and honest with him.”

“I will, I promise I will.”

“Don’t let him slip through your fingers, my darling girl. When it comes to love, you know as well as I that time is never in abundance.”

Taking the wise words to heart, Shelagh nods as she reaches out to her friend. The warmth and familiarity of her fingers is comforting, the cantering pace of her heart slowing to a brisk beat against her rib cage.

“Now,” Lindsey stands, pulling Shelagh up as well, “let’s go and talk clothes and strategy for the party next Saturday.”

Following Lindsey to her bedroom, Shelagh squeezes her hand just before they let go of each other. “Thank you, for everything.”

“You deserve nothing but happiness and I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” Lindsey leans in and gently kisses Shelagh. “Now that that is settled,” she opens her closet, “shall we wear our black or pink negligees?”

 

* * *

 

The telephone rings, pulling Patrick away from the information he had just been reading on spina bifida. “Doctor Turner speaking.”

“How enchanting.”

Confusion furrowing his brow, he looks into the receiver and asks quite crossly, “To whom am I speaking to?”

“This is Lindsey, Bernadette’s friend. We had met in Brighton.” Already with his next question on the tip of his tongue, she answers it before he can say a word, “I had called your home, but your housekeeper told me I could get ahold of you here. She was quite adamant.”

Patrick takes a deep, steady breath. He had not been expecting her call, however, he reasons, it had been just over a week since their trip down to Brighton. “I am assuming she had told you what we had discussed?”

“I am calling to set up a date and time that is most convenient for you.”

Patrick stares at his opened office door, hoping that the reception area is just as empty as it was when he had walked through it a few hours ago. “Friday or Saturday nights are best.” He presses into his tired eyes with the tip of his thumb and forefinger. “I’m with patients during the day and I pick up my son on Sunday from his grandmothers.”

“I am available…,” he can hear the flipping of pages, no doubt from a date book, “I am available this Friday later in the evening or, if you would prefer earlier, I have an opening a month from now.”

Patrick physically shakes his head. “I will take this Friday. What time?”

“At ten pm.”

He stares back at the door again through the blur of his tired eyes, “Is there anything that I need to, umm, bring or, umm, wear?”

“You just need to make sure you bring that charming smile, Doctor Turner.” He can hear her grinning through the phone. “My address is Number 5 Chester Pl. apartment 2B. I’m across the street from Regents Park on the east side.”

Finding a spare paper and his fountain pen, he writes down the address. “I’ve got it.”

“There’s no need to be nervous Doctor Turner. I promise I won’t bite, at least not on the first date.” And with a click, she hangs up the phone.

Staring down at the receiver for longer than necessary, Patrick rolls his eyes before hanging up the phone. Turning his attention back onto the article at hand, he idly wonders what will happen when he walks into her apartment.

 

* * *

 

_Bernadette, I am looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Rest assure I will do my best to convince you to come to Paris with me. I have already set up accounts at Dior and Chanel._

_Until tomorrow, B._

 

Shelagh reads the note three more times before opening the boxes littered along her coffee table. Various colors and fabrics overwhelm her as she runs her fingers along the silk.

—Knock, Knock—

Glancing up, Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, her stomach tying itself into many knots.

—Knock, Knock—

Standing up, she opens the door to see Patrick’s gentle face. “Hello,” his smile reaches all the way into his floppy hair.

“Hello Patrick Turner,” slowly, she opens the door to let him in. “Excuse the mess. I was just about to put—” she abruptly stops when his smile falters. Glancing back over her shoulder, she mutters, “I’ll just put all of this away.” Scooping up as much of the boxes as possible, she dumps them onto her bed. Swallowing past the seed of guilt lodged against her throat as best as she can, she calls out, “Are you here for business or—”

“Are you going to Paris?” Patrick looks up from the note that came with the packages. “I don’t mean to pry, but I picked this up from the floor.”

“No, I’m not going to Paris. He just—”

“He? You mean a man from your job?”

“Yes. He has been trying to convince me to move to Paris for the past year.” Never daring to look directly at him, she can feel his eyes drilling into the top of her head. “I’ve always told him no, but he has always been a good paying client.”

“Do you want to go to Paris with him?” The sharpness of his tone makes her heart erratically pound against her chest.

Gathering all of the courage she can muster, she finally looks at him since she saw the note in his hand. Instantly she wish she hadn’t. Although his face screams indifference, his hazel eyes are cast and drowning in darkness.

“I can’t take you to Paris. I can’t buy you all of these clothes and jewelry. If that is what you want then—”

“No!” Closing the distance between them, she settles down next to him on the sofa. “I don’t want Paris or the items he buys me. I assure you, if I were to live with him, my life would be just as empty as it was before I met you.”

“I can’t provide that kind of lifestyle,” his words are meek as she notices him staring at another box left on the coffee table.

“I don’t need or want that kind of lifestyle,” she picks up the box and stands from the sofa.

His hand darts out and captures her wrist, effectively stopping her from moving a single inch. “Timothy and I bought that for you. It’s not Channel or Dire, but—”

“Oh, Patrick Turner, you dear, sweet man,” Shelagh capture his cheek with her palm. “Don’t you see? I will adore this gift far more than all the Chanel and Dior clothes because it came from you and Timothy. You bought this out of love and kindness, where as Bernard bought all those things with a motive under his sleeve.”

Patrick sighs, his arms circling around her waist, clinging to her as he nuzzles his cheek against her stomach. “Would you tell me if you wanted something more? Even if it was something or some place that I wouldn’t be able to give you?”

“Patrick,” she lifts his chin with the tip of her finger, “you give me something that no other man has given me before; freedom, choice, love, devotion, patience, and an abundance of memories I never want to forget.” She sweeps her thumb along his bottom lip, “Those are things that can never be bought in a store.”

“I… I never knew…”

“Of course not, you dear, sweet man, because you give all those things to everyone you meet. Respect is not something that is given as freely in this profession.”

“I would run myself into the ground if it meant I could give you the world.”

“You give me so much more than that.”

The smile returns to his cheeks, small and bleary, but it returns and she is most thankful. “I’m sorry for reading that and jumping to conclusions.”

“It was shocking to see.” Shelagh leans down and kisses the tip of his nose. “I would be more surprised if you didn’t say anything.” She shakes the small package, “Can I open it?”

He leans back and kisses her knuckles, “Of course!”

Sitting back down next to him, she opens the top to reveal a pretty blue scarf. “It’s the one I saw when we were at Brighton!”

“I noticed how much you admired it. Timothy and I went back to Brighton this past weekend to buy it.” He peeks over into the box. “Timothy also made you a – there it is!”

Shelagh holds up a hand drawn picture of the three of them eating ice cream on the pier. “Oh, how nice! I’ll frame it and place it next to the germ painting.”

“When is your evening with him?” His eyes flick over to her bedroom, “The one who wants you to go to Paris.”

Shelagh sets down the box with her scarf and picture in it and sighs, “Tomorrow.”

“I have my evening with your friend tomorrow,” he murmurs back.

“I know you are a wee bit hesitant with the date, however, try to have fun.” She lays her hand on his knee, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Just as long as she doesn’t have any cats, I think we’ll be tip, top, and tickety boo,” his smile has no chance of reaching his eyes, but she doesn’t harp on it. He checks his watch, “I have to get going. I have a patient I need to see in the next building.”

“Okay…,” Shelagh glances down at her intertwined fingers. “I’m sorry for—”

“Shelagh, I know what I signed up for. I knew that there would be and will be other men.” He clasps her combined hands, “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay some of your—”

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence. I received this debt on my own and I’ll pay it off on my own.” She leans in and kisses his forehead, “You’re a wonderful man, Patrick Turner, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just be honest with me, even if you think I won’t like it.” He kisses her back, yet this time, on her cheek. “I really do have to get going.”

When he stands, she follows him. “I really do love my scarf.”

“Well I really do love you,” he kisses her one more time before opening the door. “I’ll see you soon, my dear. Be safe.”

“Goodnight Patrick Turner.” She watches him step down the stairs before turning back into her apartment. Picking up the note, she rips it until it is nothing but tiny little pieces. Dumping them into the bin, she walks into her bedroom, the contents of Bernard's kindness staring back at her. His bribery, though lovely to have, is too much to even look at, let alone to wear. She knows that Bernard will want to see her in one of the dresses he has purchased for her, however, she knows she cannot keep them. "This is not my life anymore."

Gathering her suitcase from her closet, she takes out each piece of clothing from its box and carefully sets it in, making sure to not wrinkle the pristine garments. Snapping her case shut, she hauls it off and sets it next to the front door.  _It would look far better on a lot of the other girls._  

Returning back to the coffee table, she pulls the pretty blue scarf from the box and wraps it around her throat, the cocoon of Patrick's love and Timothy's kindness soothing her heart. 

 

* * *

 

“Bernadette, my darling,” Bernard widens the door, “come in, please.”

Shelagh steps in, “How long are you here for?”

“Long enough,” he locks the door securely, his predatory eyes already set on her. “How many airplane tickets do I need to purchase back to Paris?”

“I think the real question should be, ‘Bernadette, what do you have under that heavy coat?’” She gives him a sly smirk as his eyes trail along her hidden curves, his curiosity and lust beating out any form of common sense. Unleashing each button in a tantalizing show, she has Bernard drooling by the time she is down to the last one. “I forget,” she stops from opening her coat, “what was your question again?”

Bernard stalks up to her, “Who bloody cares,” he wrenches off her offensive coat. Her skin puckers as he simply devours her whole. Lifting her up as if she weighs two pounds, he slams her against the wall as her fingers numbly fiddle with the catch of his trousers.

As he sinks into her, she catches the small moan that had nearly escaped from her lips. She knows from their numerous nights together that he loves to hear her pleasure, yet, he truly gets off when she makes him work for it.

“I forgot how gifted you are at playing cat and mouse,” he pounds into her, his power melodic yet relentless as the feel of him stroking that hard-to-reach spot has her breathless.

“I’m sure I don’t know – ooh,” a shiver runs sharply down her spine as his tongue strikes her nipple. Delirium soon begins to set in, the domination of his body wickedly having its way with her. She steals a few breaths, daring to think that she can scale down this mountain of a high.

Yet, being the methodical man that she has come to know, he pulls her leg up so that it rests along his chest, reaching a whole new part of her that no man had ever reached.

And she drowns, blissfully and unapologetically, until she is nothing but putty in his hands.

 

**..::..::..**

 

Checking his watch for the millionth time within so many seconds, Patrick waits until it is ten o’clock on the dot before knocking on the door in front of him. Running his fingers though his hair, he glances down the hallway both to his left and then to his right.

The door opens and the most glorious smell assaults Patrick, beckoning him to look at the woman in front of him. “Doctor Turner.” He subconsciously stuffs his hands deep into his pockets as she openly rakes her eyes down his body. “I’ll give you a point for punctuality, however the tie choice is quite atrocious.” She stands to the side, “Come on in.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Lindsey closes the door, “you haven’t seen or heard me in action. I’m sure I’ll offend you at some point during the evening.” She motions for him to follow her with the crook of her finger. “The lasagna is ready and is cooling on the rack.”

“Splendid,” he mutters under his breath.

“Patrick, relax for goodness sakes.” At his widening eyes, she rolls her own. “You are as white as a sheet, you’ve barely said three words, and I would put money down that you have been sitting out in front of my building for the past hour.”

“Hour and a half,” he presses his lips together as guilt bubbles in the pit of his stomach.

She raises her brow, “Now we’re up to seven words! Why don’t you slice both of us a piece while I get us our drinks.”

Nodding, he cuts through the lasagna and places them on the plates. Returning back to the table to where Lindsey is now sitting, he settles down next to her with a shy smile.

“Tucker in and chow down,” already with her fork in hand, Lindsey begins to eat.

Pushing his food along his plate, Patrick stares down wondering what on earth had convinced him that this was a good idea. He had meant to call and cancel their plans numerous times within the week, yet, something stopped him. He had told Shelagh that he would go, but she had obviously left it up to him to make his own decision.  _And then everything that happened yesterday..._

“I didn’t put poison in it.”

Patrick looks up to see that her plate is quite literally licked clean and that she is now sipping on her cocktail. “I don’t want to have sex with you.” His words slip out from his mouth without so much as a filter to stop them.

“No shit, Sherlock.” She takes a sip of her martini and pulls a cigarette from her pack on the table. “I can lick you to kingdom come and I don’t think you would become remotely hard.”

“Then why am I here?” 

Lindsey twists the cigarette pack around to offer him one. When he takes it, she strikes a match and leans forward to light it for him before lighting her own. Taking a small drag and then another one, she quietly asks, “How much do you know about Bernadette?”

“I know her actual name for starters.”

She grins, “There we are, the cheek is finally starting to show. Thank the Lord, Jesus.”

He impatiently rolls his eyes, “I know that she is a… I mean, I know what her job is at night.” The name of her profession, the cruel words used to describe women like her by those he has considered friends bitterly stains against his tongue.

"You mean to say whore."

 

**..::..::..**

 

“Isn’t this amazing?”

His question, as gentle as the moonlight casting through the windows, flutters in her chest. He is still soft, yet just hard enough to stay inside her. They have been connected together since the moment he had her against the wall, with their only breaks to nourish their bodies with sustenance.

“You can have this everyday, Bernadette, and so much more,” his hands flutters down to her waist. “Say you’ll move to Paris with me.”

Her fingers lightly trace along the lines of his scars. He had told her that when he was in the war, he was shot. The doctor that saved him had told him that there were several pieces of shrapnel that they had to dig out, hence the size of the scar. “You know my answer.”

“Then stay with me for a week,” his hands possessively captures her backside. “I will pay you 3,000 pounds and if by the end you want to go back, then I’ll let you go, no questions asked.”

 _3,000 pounds!?! That would be enough and more to pay off my debt._ She looks back at her purse, the blue scarf Patrick and Timothy had bought her tied to the handle. _But at what cost to Patrick?_

 

**..::..::..**

 

Lindsey flicks the ash in the ashtray, Patrick's tongue tied at the offensive word. “What’s the matter? You can’t say whore? She’s a whore. I’m a whore. We both sell our bodies to men at top dollar.” She takes a drag. “Say it. Say that she's a whore.”

“No! I could never. I, uhh, I…,” he stutters through his words. “It’s not a, uhh, nice thing to, you know, say.”

“How can you accept her for who she truly is, if you can’t even say what she does for a living?”

Bowing his head, the truth of her statement digs sharply in his heart. Since finding out about her true profession, he would just remain ignorantly blissful of the name of her job; just calling it for what it is – sex. Yet, deep down, he knew that if he said the name of her job out loud, that it would solidify it, like it is being written down in the history books for anyone to reference.

Smothering her cigarette in the ashtray, Lindsey angrily replies to his silence with a forceful, “Get out!” She stands, lording over him, “Get out, you hypocrite!”

“But… I don’t understand!” He stands from the table unsure why he is receiving her wrath in such a way.

“You say that her past doesn’t matter, that you are in love with her, but deep down, you’re ashamed of her.” She walks around the table and pushes him towards the door. “Why don’t you just break it off with her now and save her a lot of heartache down the line. She might be some common whore, but she is human just like the rest of us.”

“No! Wait! Please, I beg you!” She continues to push at his chest despite his pleadings. “Stop! I love her, I truly do! Please, stop!”

“If you love her then why are you so ashamed of her?” She reaches for the door knob, ready to kick him out of her apartment.

His hand darts out and pulls her wrist up, away from the door. “She’s a prostitute. I have conditioned myself to not use that word simply for the fact that I don’t want no such rumors flying about in our community.”

Seeing her eyes beginning to turn an angry shade of red, he quickly adds, “It would solidify her past. Not one person should be judged by their color or gender or their ideas or their past, but by the content of their character. She is a kind woman, beautiful, not just on the outside, but on the inside as well.” He closes his eyes as his chin drops to his chest, “She deserves to be so much more than to only be known as a whore.”

“And what do you know of her job?”

He glances up, surprised to see that she has calmed down a bit. “We never really talked about it, other than her telling me that she willingly went into it with both eyes open.” He swallows hard, down past the jealousy that he has worked so hard at controlling, “She enjoys sex.”

She crosses her arms along her chest. “And what do you think about all of the dicks she has fucked?”

The vulgarity of her words slides off of his shoulders as the answer to her question sticks to the walls of his throat, thick as molasses. “I try not to,” he mutters under his breath. “However, late at night, when I can’t sleep, I wonder what will make me special? How will I perform any differently than the men who have come before me? I have only had sex with one other woman before her.”

“Your wife.”

“Mariann.”

Silence permeates the flat, both Patrick and Lindsey staring at each other with nothing more than the love of another woman passing between them. Turning away from him, Lindsey picks up the pack of cigarettes along with their drinks and tilts her head towards the sofa for Patrick to follow her. “In order for these lessons to work, for your relationship to thrive, you will need to be completely honest with not only me or Bernadette, but also with yourself.”

Patrick nods as he settles down on the sofa.

“Do you want a cigarette?” She holds out the pack for him to take one. Fishing out his lighter, he lights both cigarettes. She takes a slow and winding drag before she says, “Tell me about the sex you had with your wife.” When his brow furrows in indignation, she quietly adds, “You asked how you’ll you make yourself different from the other men. Tell me what you have done so far and I can elaborate on what else you can do.”

“What makes you qualified?”

“Other than being a trained whore with extensive knowledge on how to pleasure both women and men?” Lindsey takes a sip of her martini as his indignation slips into curiosity, “Simple. I have made Bernadette orgasm more than you have.”

“But we have not had sex.”

She taps the tip of her finger against his chest, “Exactly. We have, numerous times.”

Trying hard to think of a quip back , he tells himself that their conversation is meant to help his relationship with Shelagh, not to hurt it. Remembering her request for total honesty, he thinks back to the times he and Mariann had been in bed together. “We had mainly had sex in the missionary position. When we were younger and were trying to have a child of our own, we had branched off and tried new things.”

“Did she ever suck you off?”

Embarrassment stings his cheeks, “No.”

“Did you ever go down on her?”

He looks towards the ceiling, “I had tried, however, she felt embarrassed by it.”

“Do you even know what a clit is?”

“Of course I do.”

She takes a long drag. “So let me get this straight,” she lazily pushes the smoke out of her nose, “you have never been given or have given oral pleasure?” When he shakes his head in the negative, she rolls her eyes, “No offense to your wife, who I’m sure was a lovely lady, but that is the exact reason why married men come to us in the first place.”

“I would have never cheated on my wife, just like I will never cheat on She – I mean Bernadette.”

“It’s okay, you can call her Shelagh. For the sake of keeping up with appearances, I just call her by her handle. She doesn’t seem to mind, just as long as you are not around.” She leans over her table and pours herself another drink. “Tell me about the sex when you were trying for a baby.” She hands him his drink.

He scrunches his face, “Shouldn’t I talk about this with Shelagh?”

Within mid-sip, she swallows her drink and states, “Of course, however, she also thinks that everything will be perfect. But just like you, she has doubts about the bedroom. Not about you, of course, but about herself.”

“How… I mean, why…”

“Let me tell you a dirty little secret only the women in this profession knows,” she dramatically pauses and finishes out her cigarette. “We enjoy sex. With different men, we have to find ways to enjoy it; hence why we are so good at sex.”

 

**..::..::..**

 

“Ohhh, god, right there,” her nails scratch along his scalp as the tip of his tongue strokes her clit in such a way that has her seeing stars. 

"You see, Bernadette," Bernard slows the pace of his fingers, "you can have this state of bliss anytime you like." He kisses her trembling thighs, the pad of his thumb circling along her puckered hole.

"Oh, Bernard...," she arches her back, silently begging him to put his lips back where they belong.

"Say you'll come to Paris." He inches closer and closer, murmuring hotly against her skin, "Say it." 

"I'll...," she slams her eyes shut, pleasure cascading around her as if they are dew drops in the early morning sun.

"Say it, my darling girl." 

She bites down on her bottom lip, the words he so desperately wants to hear, smearing along the tip of her tongue.

 

**..::..::..**

 

The honest truth of Lindsey's statement hangs in the air between them, confusion dawning along Patrick's handsome face. “Okay, **_Doctor_** Turner, what happens to the vagina when we become aroused?”

“The vagina will lubricate itself to ease penetration.”

“Gold star, Doctor Turner! Yes, it becomes wet. And tell me, what happens when it does not lubricate itself?”

“Sex, mainly penetration, will become highly uncomfortable.” Patrick looks to Lindsey who is rolling her hand through the air, silently encouraging him to make the connection. “So in your line of work as a, uhhh, prostitute, you have to constantly come up with different ways to enjoy sex, otherwise, it will become uncomfortable.”

“For both partners, I assure you.”

“But what does this have to do with me and Shelagh?”

“She thinks that she’s going to do something that will remind you that she was once a prostitute and, in return, you’ll either not enjoy it or run away.” Lindsey lays a hand over his knee, “In other words, there’s a meeting of two worlds; one who is over experienced and one whose only experience is in the marital bed.”

“You sound like there’s no hope for us.” His moodiness starts to catch up, especially after all this talk about his lack of experience.

Her eyes flash, “Don't even think about playing the wounded soldier. Being a married man before, you know that love is not just a field of flowers and rainbows and sweet kisses. It’s work and dedication and learning.” She pokes him in the chest with her finger. “On top of that, you two have it worse off. Coming from very different backgrounds and histories, you will have to work extra hard to make sure that your relationship will work.”

Looking rightly remorseful, he murmurs, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Of course I’m right! I also know what happens to women who fall in love while in this profession. I can tell you,” she shakes her finger in his face, “that it is very rare for a couple to come out of this with a happy, long lasting marriage. It’s more likely that either you will eventually become disgusted by her and will leave or the range of differences in you both will hit a tipping point that will be a lot harder to come back from.”

“Have you ever been in love before?”

Silence reigns as his question permeates the clustered air between them. “A long time ago. He was my first and only love within the walls of this profession. We were both young and naïve and with the war raging in the background, we went at it with full force.” She lights another cigarette. “He was killed in Dunkirk.”

He captures his head in his hands, memories of war replaying over and over and over in his mind. “I had many friends die there.” When he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, he lifts himself back up, determined to shelve these memories back where they belong. “When Mariann and I were trying to have a baby, we had tried other positions but these were different variations of missionary.”

“Would you say that Mariann orgasmed a lot, sometimes, or hardly ever?”

His first instinct is to say that it happened a lot, but he stops himself with the bite of his tongue. He knows that most of the time, it was him initiating sex mainly due more to frustration with his job. On the very rare times that she initiated sex, he had made sure to take it slow and to make it pleasurable for her.

“You know, I’m giving you a lot of points for actually thinking about your answer.” She leans back into the cushion and takes a sip of her drink.

He ignores her quip altogether. “I would say, and this is an estimate, that she orgasmed sometimes. Our first few times together were a complete shambles—”

“—they always are.”

“Then we began trying to have a baby and when it didn’t happen after the first few months, we began to experiment. That’s when I learned what would pleasure her and what didn’t.” He runs his finger along his chin. “After having Timothy and becoming more involved with my practice, sex became few and far between.”

“It’s typical.” She smothers out her cigarette. “If you didn’t have oral sex, then how would you help get her wet?”

His ears becomes beet red, “I would, uhhh, touch her in the spots I knew she liked the best.”

“Don’t get shy now, Doctor Turner.”

He takes a deep breath, “I would touch her clitoris or her breasts.” He looks towards the pack of half empty cigarettes on the table, “May I?”

“Of course!” She holds out her hand for another as well. “Tell me, do you masterbate?”

The sweet memory of their time spent together after putting Timothy to sleep has him blushing from head to toe. The feel of her hand pressing against him, the smell of her perfume and the taste of sea salt along her neck, her lips against his as whispered promises excites him to no end.

“I would venture to say that that is a yes.” Lindsey grins something fierce as she blows smoke out from between her puckered lips. Laying the cigarette in the ashtray, she straightens up and clasps her hands in her lap, “Patrick, I know your limits within your time with me, however, I would like for you to do something.” When he doesn’t say anything to rebuke her, she quickly says, “I would like for you to undress.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Excuse me?”

“I promise I won’t go any further than observation.” He presses his lips together, still unsure. “I’ve seen her naked a million times. I know, intimately, what she likes and doesn’t like.”

“You two… uhhh… have… umm…”

“Apparently men like it when there’s two women in the room giving each other pleasure.” She hits the side of his knee with the back of her hand, “Now get up and strip. Don’t be shy. I’ve seen numerous naked bodies before.”

Just as he is about to refuse, a memory so tiny, yet so painful surfaces like a bubble reaching the top of the water. “I have one more question, if you will indulge me of your time.”

“As long as you indulge me of my request.” 

Blanching at the thought, he pushes through his anxiety and nods. “Can you tell me about the man Shelagh is seeing tonight? Bernard is his name.”

Lindsey squints her eyes, her protectiveness made abundantly clear as her cool blue sapphires harden to steel. “I would never divulge in such information. What is said between us is private and you should—”

“He wants to take her to Paris, to live with him, to be more than just regular customer.” At her astounding silence, he continues on, his mere supposition starting to become a dreadful reality, “He is wealthy and is obviously infatuated with her and, I think on some level she is just as infatuated with him.”

“What did she tell you,” she fiercely asks.

He answers her question with his own, “Do you think she would consider his proposal?”

“What did she say?”

“That she had at one point but continues to refuse him.”

“Do you think she is lying to you or that she is going to deceive you?” Just as he opens his mouth to answer, she cuts him to the quick, “If you think that she will, then you obviously don’t know her at all, nor do you respect her enough to take her at her word.”

“I believe her and, more to the point, I know she is genuine with both her words and her feelings. I just want to know what he has that creates this change in her?”

Lindsey takes her dying cigarette from the ashtray and takes its last inch of sweet nicotine. “Do you really want to know?” Without a thought to her question, he is about to answer, when she reaches out and lays her palm on his knee, “Think about it, Patrick. Do you really want to know about a man that will be nothing but history after tonight’s money is collected?”

“He’s different than the other men.”

“Because he gets off on pleasuring her.” The cold sting of her statement slaps him in the face, yet she shows no pity for him. “He takes control, which is a rare commodity in this profession. It almost feels like a drug, not having to inch this way to finally feel some sort of enjoyment or to teach a man how to lick a clit.” She squints her eyes, "Despite what you think, our profession is more work than play. The chances of having a man who knows how to pleasure a woman is a lot less common than you think."

 

**..::..::..**

 

Shelagh clamps her fingers around the scrap of fabric and pulls it towards her as the bed continues to rock. At first Bernard had wanted to use her precious blue scarf, but she had refuse, citing how important it was to her. Using his tie, he has her chained against the headboard as he has his devilish way with her.

“Fuck,” he grips the flesh of her ass with one as the other dives between her legs.

She presses her ear into the mattress as thrusts her ass against him. A small drizzle of sweat trails down the slope of her back into her hair. She doesn’t make a sound as she orgasms, but she knows he can feel it when his pace nearly doubles.

“You feel amazing,” he grits through his teeth as he continues to stroke her clit. He strikes her bottom with his free hand and, this time, she moans into the soft sheets. Slapping her ass again, it is on his fourth round when he abruptly stops and presses his hips into hers. “Fuck,” he slumps over her, making sure to kiss her along her vertebrae.

She shivers under his loving touch. It’s too intimate yet, for one damning second, she pretends that it’s Patrick’s lips. Banishing that thought away into a cold, dark place, she wiggles her bottom against him, eliciting a quiet moan.

“This is why you need to come to Paris for one week,” he rests his chin against her shoulder blade, “I would not waste one second to fuck you against every solid item in my apartment.”

At one point in her life, _not so long ago_ , her mind chides, she would have taken up on his offer – at least to stay with him for the week. Now, _now_ , she internally sighs…

 

**..::..::..**

 

Lindsey’s words stings at the implication of his lack experience, yet it is also at this moment, so precise, so clear, that Patrick knows exactly what he has to do. _No more awkwardness, no more hiding behind what is deemed by society to be righteous or good._ _Mariann told you to lead the most spectacular life just before she died. It’s time to live._ “Thank you for your honesty,” he stands up from the sofa.

“Is that it?” Her eyes pinch in disgust. “Are you leaving?”

“Quite the opposite,” he shrugs off his jacket and pulls at his tie. “I love her to the moon and back and, even if it kills me, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that we both live spectacular lives.” He yanks out and his shirt. “I don’t want to shy away from something that is a big part of Shelagh’s life.”

“Does that mean you are willing to have sex?”

His fingers slow to a stop on the top button as he considers her question. “No, I don’t. I want to make love to Shelagh and Shelagh only, however, I do want to take you up on more of your lessons.” He looks to her, slightly blushing when he sees her grinning back at him. “Unless you no longer want to provide lessons.”

“Are you kidding me?” She leans back into the sofa, crossing her legs to help get comfortable. “This is the first time in a long time that I have seen a man willing to take charge. Most men would cower under such information, but that seemed to liven you up, like an electric wire touching water.”

“It’s still a bit improper,” his thought somehow became a statement as he fiddles with his waist coat.

Glancing up, he notices Lindsey’s grin widens to a sly one, “Patrick, you are undressing yourself in a whore’s flat talking about your sexual experience with your deceased wife all the while professing your love to another whore.” She lights another cigarette, “This all screams improper.”

All at once all of his confidence rushes out of his chest, like a balloon losing its air.

Perhaps sensing this, Lindsey leaves her cigarette in the ashtray and steps up to him. “Being spectacular sometimes means doing something that your not comfortable with. With my lessons, I can teach you confidence with not only how you present yourself, but also in the bedroom. I know,” she quickly adds, “that you don’t want to have sex, but there are other things I can show you that do not require such an intimate act that you want to save just for Shelagh.”

Her offer seems genuine, gentle around the edges, yet, she respects him enough to keep her distance from him. “Very well, I would appreciate you help.”

Her fingers instantly dives towards his belt.

“Oh!” He jumps back, “Umm… I can do this bit though.”

“Party pooper,” she murmurs as she reaches to finish unbuttoning his waist coat. “First things first, getting rid of that disastrous ties.”

“Timothy got it for me for my birthday.”

“Either Timothy is color blind or he was playing a little joke on you.” She shoves his waist coat off of his shoulders and throws it in the chair along with his coat and tie. Starting from the top button he left off from, she works her way down as he takes off his shoes and belt. “Have you seen each other naked?”

He shakes his head, the correct formation of speech leaving his mind as he feels her fingers flutter down his belly.

“Shelagh is quite beautiful when naked. Lily white skin, with small little freckles dotting along her body. Her breasts are magnificent, even though she would disagree all the time by saying that they are too small, they are perfect to cup in your hands. Delicious rosy pink nipples that flush darker when she orgasms.” She reaches the top of his pants, pulling at the hook and unzipping them, she pushes them down his legs.

“You’ve, uhh, made her orgasm?” He remains completely still as she finishes undressing him.

She looks up and gives him a coy grin, “Every time.”

He swallows hard, desire to witness Shelagh orgasm becomes overwhelming.

Lindsey steps back, “Take off your boxers, Patrick.”

Shoving them down his legs, he’s not surprised to find himself fully erect. He wants so badly to touch himself, yet, he keeps his fists by his side.

“You can touch yourself if you want. You’re not the first man I’ve seen wank off and you certainly won’t be the last.” When he stays completely still, she looks up to him with a sneaky smile, “Are you challenging me, Patrick? Believe me, I will win this battle time and time again.”

“It, uhh, would not be, uhh, proper.”

“Whore’s flat, remember?” She takes her cigarette from the ashtray, “But by all means, we can make a game out of this. I love talking about the different ways I can make Shelagh come.”

“It, uhh, wouldn’t take much.” His nails dig into his palms as he looks everywhere else but at her. A fruitful attempt, he knows, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself by ejaculating all over her coffee table.

“It’s a shame Shelagh isn’t here,” she leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, “she loves to swallow.”

His breathing, now in short, uneven pants, helps him control his urges while the images of Shelagh down on her knees in front of him does the complete opposite.

“The bathroom is through that door.”

Yanking up his boxers, he runs into the bathroom. Just as he makes it to the toilet, he fists his penis in one hand, squeezing himself, as he imagines that its Shelagh the whole time. It takes a matter of seconds before he feels himself tightening in all the right areas and reaching his climax.

“You know, you held off more than I thought you would.”

He catches himself by palming the wall, too sensitive to move his hand away just yet.

“How long is your recovery time?”

He takes long, steady breaths, “Recovery time?”

“The time between ejaculating and getting hard again.”

He opens his eyes and shakes his head, “I’m not… I’m not sure. Mariann and I would have sex and then go to bed.”

"Not to worry," she airily murmurs, "there are plenty of other things to do." At his confusion, she adds, “Fucking her with your mouth always gets Shelagh amped up for a second round.”

Images, delicious images of Shelagh spread out on his bed withering as he pleasures her from between her legs assaults his mind. His cock, flaccid against his thigh, begins to stir. “May I get dressed now?”

She bites down on her bottom lip, “Not yet. I would like for us to talk a little bit more.” She flicks her wrist down to the floor, “but you can wear your boxers.”

He nods, “If you are to excuse me for a few moments, I will need to clean myself before coming out.”

She silently nods and walks out without a parting word or a fleeting glance.

 

**..::..::..**

 

“I won’t be going to Paris with you,” Shelagh murmurs as she threads her fingers through Bernard's hair. Although her mind had wavered through the evening, in the end, it is Patrick's love that is her beacon of light. 

“I want you to consider—”

“No. I have considered it since the first time you asked me,” for a moment, blink and it’s gone, she could see his eyes flutter with defeat. “This is my home and I shall stay here.”

“Is there another man?” She shakes her head, not able to tell him that she will be leaving the business for something worth more than the money Bernard is willing to provide. “Whatever he is paying, I’ll double it.”

“I’m sorry Bernard,” she gives him a kiss on the cheek before turning towards the door.

“I’ll buy you a million of those scarves,” he calls out to her, “in all colors if you want it.”

Shelagh looks down and runs the silky material between her fingers, the need to see Patrick, to have him hold her in his arms, weighs heavily on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Bernard.” She opens the door and gently closes it before walking away.

 

**..::..::..**

 

“Do you feel better?” Lindsey asks as Patrick walks out into the sitting area. “I have warmed up some lasagna and refilled your glass.”  

“I’m actually rather starving.” He settles down next to her and takes the plate from the table.

“If there is one thing you learn your first night as a prostitute is that sex and food go hand in hand.” She lights her cigarette as he scarfs down his food.

“A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Then I think you’ll be pleased to learn that Shelagh is an excellent cook.” She blows out her smoke, “I can’t tell you how many times she has cooked for one of our parties and has left with at least three marriage proposals, all from women, mind you.”

Finishing up his dinner, he places his plate back on the table, “How will this work? Our lessons?”

She takes a drag, “That depends on you my dear.” She pulls her feet underneath her bottom as she leans her head against her knuckles. “Like I had said earlier, I can help you become more confident in your appearance, but that can only go so far. We can meet in a few stores to improve your fashion and take you to a few places that I know Shelagh adores.”

“Shall I pay for your time?”

“Never,” she grins, “although, you can pay for dinner every once in a while.”

“Can I get dressed?”

She flicks her hand to his clothes, “Sure.” She reaches for another cigarette as he pulls up his trousers. “My plan is for you to learn how to correctly go down on a woman.” She flicks her ashes, “I think Shelagh will appreciate that most.”

He concentrates on his buttons, unsure if he can look at her with the conversation they are having. “How many times have you been with Shelagh?”

“We’ve gone doubles with each other for about four years. I’ve worked with other women, however, I have always enjoyed being with Shelagh. She’s gentle with her touch, yet fierce with her passion.” She leans forward and puts out her cigarette. “I’m going to miss her when she finishes out her debt.”

“I’m sure you can remain friends,” even as the words leaves his mouth, he knows there can be no such ties left over.

“As nice of a thought that is, we both know that it won’t work. When you cut ties with this profession, you have to cut all of them.” She picks up her glass and swallows the rest of her cocktail. “Shame really… our double act would drive you crazy.”

“I’m sure,” he grins.

“Are you curious at what it’s like to have two women at the same time?”

“Any man worth his salt would be curious.” At her raised brow, he rolls his eyes, “Even growing up in a conservative household and working in a conservative area such as Poplar, I know that men are sexual creatures. Our bodies, our hormones, seek to find a sexual release multiple times a day, we have just learned to curb that appetite.”

“You’re a good man, Doctor Patrick Turner, a bit frumpy and idealistic, but a good man.”

“I’m glad I have your approval.”

She gives him a warm smile, “You’ve always had my approval, ever since I saw you at Brighton. Shelagh is a very private person. She would not just take anyone there, not when it means so much to her. Besides, her face lights up when she talks about you.” She stands up and steps towards him to help fix his crooked tie. “I must warn you, difficult times lie ahead. Elizabeth is starting to get wind of Shelagh’s distraction. She will make it damn near impossible for her to pay off her debt within a reasonable amount of time.”

“Why is that? Surely she can see that she wants a change.”

“There are only two things Liz cares about, money and status; and in that order. Shelagh is a top seller. She would never in her right mind let that walk out the door when Shelagh is at the top of her game.”

Patrick presses down on his lips, many scenarios running through his mind at what he can do to help and all of them doing more harm than good. “What is her total down to?”

“After tomorrow night, I believe she will be down to one twenty, depending on the negations she has made with her regulars from the last time I have talked to her.” She scrunches her brow in consternation, “I was able to get her a regular gig with me, which pays more.”

Patrick furrows his brow, deep in thought, the math not adding up, “What kind of work brings her down by over thirty pounds?”

Lindsey looks into his innocent eyes, biting her bottom lip more out of pity than fear. “The kind of work that would be hard for you to get out of your mind. I know it’s hard not to be aware of all that is happening, but I honestly don’t think you should ask about it if you see her before tomorrow night.”

He grits his teeth, several emotions passing through his features. “I always think the worst when she says something like that. Yet, when you say it, for some reason, I become fearful.” He reaches up and lays his hand on her shoulder. “Will you be there with her?”

She solemnly nods, “Of course and I will make sure she stays absolutely safe.”

“Thank you and thank you for the dinner tonight.” He blushes bright red, “I will, uhh, talk to Shelagh and get back to you.”

“You better! It’s not every day that I give free lessons to men.” She walks over to the side table near the door and reaches in her purse. “This is my number.” She tucks it in his breast pocket and leans in to give him a chaste kiss in his cheek. “Au revoir.”

“Goodnight.”

Just before he opens the door she calls out to him, “And Patrick? Women can be sexual creatures too, just as long as you know where to look.”

 

* * *

 

—Knock,Knock—

“Doctor Turner,” Patrick looks up at the tall man standing at the door.

With the surgery closed for the day, he briefly wonders how he got in, but none of it matters. _Patients first._ “Come in,” he stands and motions to the empty chair in front of his desk as he goes to shut the door. “How may I be able to help you, Mr…”

“Mr. Dawson. I’m not ill, however I wanted to see you on a more personal nature.”

Patrick’s brow furrows in consternation, “How do you mean?”

The younger man’s brow also dips, yet, his is more out of recognition, “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but did you serve in Sicily during the war.”

Battles of long ago sound off in his head, the pounding of blood in his ears still leaves him shivering, even after his treatment. “I did, I was a field surgeon on both Sicily and the mainland during the invasion.”

“You looked familiar to me,” he sighs, “but I just don’t want it to be true.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick blinks several times to help focus on the man in front of him, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I had come here on behalf of a woman we both know by the name of Bernadette, although I’m sure you know her by her given name.” Patrick can feel the color from his face draining. “Being a man of wealth and power, I was able to ascertain that you are the one who gave her the blue scarf, the one she prizes more than anything.”

Through the shock of all the information colliding against him, Patrick is able to fit a few pieces together to see somewhat of a bigger picture, “You are Bernard.”

“I am,” he crosses his leg over his knee. “My main goal in coming here was to offer you and the small parish you serve a rather sizable donation in return for Bernadette’s freedom.”

Fury shoots through his veins, “She is not a piece of furniture or meat, she’s a woman of her own free will.”

“A woman who is indebted to her madam and a madam who knows about the danger your presence creates.” He folds his hands into his lap, “She had asked me to come back to convince Bernadette to come to Paris with me at any cost. Enjoying my time with Bernadette, such a request was done with posthaste.”

His jealousy rears its ugly head, his lack of money to provide her with the same things as Bernard can still presses against his throat. “I can’t provide the money you are willing to spend on her, but I freely give something that you will never be able to give her.” At Bernard’s raises brow, Patrick answers, “Love – an item, unfortunately for you, that can’t be bought in an expensive store.”

“You are correct in your statement, doctor,” Bernard stands from his chair, “and it is with that, I will give you my promise that I will never bother Bernadette or you ever again.”

“Really?”

“You saved my life,” his simple explanation reverberates off of the walls. “While serving, I was shot several times, by both bullets and shrapnel. Although, there are many doctors who are credited with saving my life, the field surgeon by the name of Paddy Turner was able to stop the bleeding long enough so that I could reach the hospital.”

“There was a lot of blood,” his mind conjures up a picture of a mangled body, faceless, always faceless. “So much blood.”

“I owe you my life,” Bernard murmurs. “And it is because of that debt, that I give you my promise that I will let Bernadette go and that your secret remains safe with me.”

“My secret?”

“Bernadette’s madam knows of you; however, she thinks it is just an infatuation. She doesn’t know of your love for Bernadette.” He buttons his jacket, “Or of Bernadette’s love for you.”

“That was not the reason I saved your life or the lives of the other men.”

“No, but it is my reason,” Bernard quips back. “Now, I have numerous contacts and if I should hear that you have hurt Bernadette then I will make it my mission to hurt you back. And believe me Doctor Turner,” his eyes never wavers from the man in front of him, “I’m a resourceful man and a persistent one at that.”

“No such threat is needed, I assure you Mr. Dawson,” Patrick also stands from behind his desk.

“Then I shall take my leave,” with one last nod, Bernard walks out of the office.

Coming out from his desk, Patrick peers out of the window to see Bernard slide into his convertible sports car. Shaking his head, he returns back to his chair and attempts to finish his notes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long in posting this next chapter.
> 
> A nice long chapter for your troubles! :D

“Knock, knock.” She hears the door open wide as the familiar voice fills her flat. “It’s me Patrick.”

“I’m in my bedroom,” Shelagh yells back. “I’ll be out in a few seconds.” She fiddles more with the tie to her black negligee before covering herself with a well fitted sports coat – one that Lindsey had convinced her to keep from the pile of clothing Bernard had given her. “Please, make yourself a drink.”

The soft thud of his case dropping to the floor answers back. After a moment, he calls out, “Shall I make you one?”

“No thank you.” She pins her hair back into a tight bun before adding the finishing touches to her makeup. Always keeping it light, she adds a bit of mascara to help amp up her eyelashes. Quickly stepping over to her closet, she digs out her shoes for these special occasions. She and Lindsey had come up with the nickname for them after a crazy party with two clients – ‘come fuck me heels’.

Slipping them on and instantly feeling ten feet tall, she walks out into the sitting area where Patrick is waiting for her on the sofa. “I’m sorry to have kept you.”

Looking up from his notebook, his mouth hangs wide open as he draws his eyes along her body.  

“You’re going to catch flies if you keep that up,” she settles down next to him.

“You look magnificent.”

She gives him a radiant smile, “I’m glad I meet your approval.”

“You could be wearing a potato sack for all I care and you would still be as beautiful as ever,” he leans in and kisses the pulse point along her neck.

Instantly a shiver flutters down her spine, making her muscles tingle in all the right areas. “How was your day today, dear?”

The huskiness in her voice drives him to continue his trail of light kisses along the edge of her neck as he growls against her skin, “Same. How much time do we have?”

She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from moaning. “Just enough time for a quick snog.”

“Perfect,” he murmurs as he sweep his thumbs along her jaw, his fingers digging though the base of her hair.

Shifting her hips, she throws her leg over his knees and brings her body around so that she is straddling over his lap. She instantly moans into his ear, the feel of him pressing against the inseam of her black pants drives her to the brink of insanity.

Wrapping his fingers along her jaw, he crashes his lips onto hers, the tip of his tongue encouraging her open her mouth to him. He tastes of cigarettes, vinegar, and desire – a taste she can surely get accustomed to.

Yet, reluctantly and ever so gently, she pulls away from him. “Brighton, remember?”

His lips are swollen and pink as he huffs to catch his breath, his hands, on their own accord, falls down to the curve of her hips. “You are quite beautiful.” His thumbs glide along the waistband of her pants, exploring and searching for a stretch of skin he had not yet touched. “I couldn’t contain—” he stops as his fingers stroke her lace. “What is this?”

She gives him a sly grin, “Something naughty that you shouldn’t look at?”

“You’re teasing me,” he whines as she coyly shrugs her shoulders. “You climbed on top of my lap and you’re the one teasing me.”

“Can you fault a girl for wanting to get comfortable?”

He ignores that question completely, “What can I do to convince you to let me take a peek under this coat?”

She leans in and gives him a quick peck on the cheek, “Tell me about your date last night with Lindsey; every juicy little detail.”

“It was mainly a lot of talking about my sexual past, which was cute by her standards.”

She kisses the tip of his nose, “That’s because you are cute.” When he rolls his eyes, she asks, “Did she make you take your clothes off?”

His ears grow red and she has to stop herself from giggling out loud. “Yes and, as embarrassing as that was, it unfortunately doesn’t come close to what had happened when she described you naked and went into great detail of what you like to do with your mouth.”

This time, she cannot stop the giggle coming out from her throat, “Did you at least make it to the bathroom.”

“Barely.” He reaches for the buttons to her coat, “Now can I see what’s on underneath?”

She swats his hand away, “Not yet!” She steadies herself with her hands on his shoulders as she adjusts her hips, much to his dismay. “Did she offer to give you lessons?”

“She did,” he groans, “and I’m taking her up on her offer, if that is still okay with you?”  

“Patrick,” she runs her hands through his unruly hair, “you know full well where I go on nights like these. You don’t need my permission to take advantage of her free lessons. She’s quite good at what she does and a better teacher.”

For a moment – blink and it’s gone – pain and confusion passes through his hazel eyes. “Our experience in that particular area of our relationship is vastly different.” He tucks a strand of honey glazed hair behind her ear, “Mariann would never allow me to pleasure her with my mouth and I’ve come to find out that it’s something that you adore.”

“I adore you.” She stares down at his chest, her fingers fidgeting with the buttons under his collar.

He caresses her cheek, “I don’t want you to run into the arms of another man because of my inexperience.” He runs his thumb along her bottom lip, “I was told that Bernard is rather skillful in that department.”

“Oh, Patrick,” she nuzzles her cheek into his warm palm the memory of Bernard still pressing against her throat. “Bernard is the past now and will remain there. The only way I will ever go to Paris is if I am wrapped around your arms.”

“Then I’ll take you, perhaps after Brighton.”

“You don’t have to, Patrick.”

“I won’t be able to take you to Dire—”

“—Dior.”

“Or Channel—”

“—Chanel.”

“But, I’ll take you to have a picnic near the Eiffel Tower where we can drink cheap wine and eat stale pastries during the day and I will make love to you every night.” His hands begins to explore the little stretch of silk above her waist.

Dizzy with the idea of spending time with him in Paris, she peppers his cheek with small kisses. “I love…,” she catches herself before finishing her thought, “I love the idea of Paris, but more importantly, I love the thought of making love to you, exploring your body as you pleasure mine.” His eyes brightens, which makes her heart flutter, “You don’t have to take lessons if you don’t want to. Being in your arms is perfection in my books.”

“Having you in my arms is what I look forward to every day.” He kisses her, softly, with the experienced lips of a love-stained lover. “Now that I have been a good boy,” he murmurs against her cheek, “may I see what is under this coat?”

She lightly nips on the lobe of his ear before she pulls back. “You may take off my jacket, but nothing else.”

His hands immediately dives down to the buttons cinched just below her sternum. Fumbling with the large buttons, she catches her giggle when he mutters, “Bloody hell,” under his breath. Once he is successful in pulling them through, he gasps when he sees a hint of black lace.

Threading his fingers along the lapels, he pushes it off of her shoulders to reveal her lacy negligee to him. “I call it the Ava Gardner look,” she murmurs as he throws her jacket to the floor.

He timidly reaches out and traces the black line of her straps, the feel of the silk pressing along her skin sending tiny volts of electricity through the tips of his fingers. “I’d hate to see you go to another man with your Marilyn Monroe look.”

Her skin prickles underneath his gentle touch. “And what about the Shelagh Mannion look?”

“That’s all mine, I’m afraid,” he leans forward and presses a kiss along the curve of her breast. And then another. And then another.

She, in return, thrusts her fingers through his hair, silently begging him to mark her as his.

His hands climbs up her back and reaches for the straps over the curve of her shoulders, pulling them down her arms, slowly, s-s-l-o-o-w-l-y, exposing her breast for him to see. Her nipples are stretched, aching to feel the warmth of his tongue, yet he hesitates, looking to her for permission.

A rush of cozy warmth wraps around her heart. No man would have ever asked permission; there was none needed when they had paid a high price for the admittance to have her body at their own free will. “Touch me, Patrick.”

With one hand resting against the curve of her ass, the other traces around her ribs, the pad of his thumb strokes her nipple, eliciting a small moan from the back of her throat. Converging his lips over her other one, the tip of his tongue flicks against the hardened peak.

Rutting her hips against his, becoming increasingly intoxicated by the strength of his length pressing into her, her head falls to the side as she arches her back. “Ohhh, Patrick,” she bites down on her bottom lip as she continues to buck her hips in a melodious rhythm. “Palm my breast like this,” she centers his hand over her. “I like it when you pinch me here.”

When he is able to set a symbiotic rhythm between his tongue and fingers, she allows herself to be swallowed whole by the engulfing pleasure. A small voice, tiny and hard to hear, tells her that she shouldn’t be doing this, but damn it all to hell, does it feel oh-so-good.  

—Ring, Ring—

Picturing the precipice of her climax starting to slowly disappear with each annoying ring, she knows that she can’t miss this phone call. “Shit!” The cool air nips along her puckered skin as she pulls away from him. “I have to get this,” she mutters as she runs to the telephone. “Hello?”

“Please tell me you were in the middle of fucking him.”

She rolls her eyes as she pushes the straps back onto her shoulders. “Not in every sense of the word.”

“Ooh, foreplay… just as fun.”

“What do you want, other than to torture me?” She stares at the small hairline crack that climbs the wall.

“I want your friendship and, of course, about five of your orgasms tonight.”

“Lindsey,” she growls into the receiver.

“Fine, four orgasms then, but I have a right to be greedy. Your boyfriend ejaculated in my bathroom last night and, while I enjoyed it, I was not able to get anything in return.”

Shelagh sighs, “Lindsey…”

“He is gorgeous, my darling girl. A bit frumpy with the clothing attire, yet, it’s what’s underneath that you will find most pleasing.”

Smirking into the receiver, Shelagh rolls her eyes after checking her watch. “Is everything still set for the evening?”

“Of course! One of the chaps is getting married and they are celebrating in true male fashion. I want you to meet me at my apartment and we can get a cab together.”

“Very well,” Shelagh looks back at her watch again and sees that she has some time before her bus is scheduled to arrive, enough for her and Patrick to walk together. “I’ll see you soon,” she hangs up the phone. Taking a deep breath, she turns and makes her way back towards the sofa.

Patrick is still sitting there, yet he has his head tilted all the way back while the heel of his hands covers his eyes. Noticing the strained bulge between his widened legs, she resists the urge to climb down between his knees, to kiss him in a spot he had never experienced before.

“I have to get going soon,” she softly murmurs as she bends down to pick up her jacket.

“Lindsey told me not to ask what your client will be tonight,” his hands drop to his lap as he lifts his head to look at her. “And while I am automatically thinking the worse, I think I will heed her advice and just say, be careful tonight. If you should need anything, anything at all, call me.”

She buttons her jacket, her nerves starting to get the better of her. “How about I call you when I get home?”

He reaches out and captures her wrist, along with her attention, “I would very much like that. I don’t care what time you get back, call me.”

“I will,” she wraps her fingers around his own wrist and steps back, pulling him up to stand in front of her. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be just fine when I get home.” He snakes his arm around her waist and murmurs against her cheek, “I’ll be better when you call me.”

“Walk me to the bus stop?”

“Always.” Rearranging his pants to help hide the excitement that is still pressed against the inseam, he flicks out his hand towards the door to indicate that he is ready to leave.

Their trek out into the hallway and down the stairs is met only with a stifling silence interrupted by the click of her heels against the tiled floor. Just as the bus stop looms in front of them, Shelagh checks her surroundings before whispering, “You were magnificent when we were on the sofa.”

Even in the low light, she notices that his ears blush a deep red. “You are rather a bossy one,” the lines of his smile reaches his eyes and then some.

She wraps her arm around his elbow, laughter echoing off of the buildings, “You didn’t seem to mind.”

They reach their destination with time to spare. “I met…,” he abruptly stops when she faces him, joy at having his company for a few more minutes shining brightly in her eyes. “I meant what I said earlier, about Paris. I look forward to that day just a much as I look forward to Brighton.”

The thought of Paris in the springtime with no more debt, no more men other than the one that has captured her heart makes her dizzy with love. “To make love to you whenever I—”

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice calls out, disrupting their quiet moment together, “umm, Doctor Turner?”

Patrick kisses Shelagh’s forehead, propriety be damned, before turning to the young, mousy woman behind him. “Yes, Nurse Miller?”

“I’m sorry to have interrupted, but I saw your car and I thought you were close by.” The young woman bites down on her bottom lip, “Mary Richards has just called with labor pains.”

“The twins case?” At her nod, he swings his case to the other hand, “Very well, you park your bike here and we can take my car.” As she goes off to rest her bicycle against the wall, he turns back to Shelagh, “If you call and I don’t pick up—”

“You will be bringing twin babies into the world,” she finishes for him as she sees her bus turning the corner. “Go and be spectacular, Patrick Turner,” she gives him a kiss on the cheek and one more fleeting glance before climbing onto the bus. By the time she sits down, he is already gone.

 

* * *

 

Hands. So many hands. Too many for her liking, but with about forty pounds on the line, she ignores the instant hatred that comes with the prints that have been left upon her body.

Well, as best as she can.

The men, six of them to be exact, came to play. What started out as a party with private rooms in the back soon, mainly out of impatience, became a free-for-all in the sitting room.

Rubbers litter the garbage can as each man has had a go, and more, with both women.

Taking a small peek around the room, she notices that Lindsey is having the time of her life with three of the men surrounding her; one fucking her from behind, one with his dick in her mouth, and the other wanking off by the sight of it.

Two men are engaged with each other on the sofa, lightly kissing and stroking each other. Come morning, they will most likely deny to their wives and even to themselves what had transpired, but Shelagh has no opinion on the matter. There is no such thing as love within these proverbial hotel walls of this profession, only sexual gratification and cash deals. How you get aroused is your business and your business only.

The last man, the one ironically named Patrick, is underneath her as she rides him with focused precision. Out of all of the men, he has been most gentle with her, yet he is the one she has refused to call out his name. She doesn’t want to mix the two men. She doesn’t want the memory of this night, of this man, tarnishing her time with the Patrick she loves.

Threading her fingers through her hair, she canters her hips. Her body is exhausted, yet she knows that after this, she will be able to go home, their party time thankfully coming to a close.

“Where do you want my hands?” The younger man, whose-name-shall-not-be-said, looks to her with wide, doe eyes. _Nowhere_ , she almost snaps, yet, she harnesses in her anger with a deep breath. Being the man with the least experience in matters such as these, she understands that he needs more guidance.

She sweeps her hair to the side and leans over his body with hands captured on both sides of his head. “I want your hands on my ass; grip me, spank me, do whatever feels right.” Her slick body effortlessly glides against his own, creating such sweet friction that she feels herself reaching certain heights.

Squeezing both globes of her ass, she can feel his muscles tightening. Just like her, he is nearing his own climax. Capturing one of her tits with his mouth, he gently nips down and flicks his tongue against her peek.

Instantly, she closes her eyes, as her climax begins to coil in her belly. “Oh, Patrick,” with the help of his large hands, her pace quickens. “Ohh, I’m, right there, right there…,” her muscles quiver as she blissfully jumps from her precipice.

Digging his fingers into her flesh, he thrusts his hips violently against her as he grunts out her name.

The name ‘Bernadette’ doesn’t fully register in her mind until she opens her eyes to see that the salt and pepper hair is brown and the laugh lines that she adores are nowhere to be found.

Then clapping erupts from all around them as men in various stages of excitement looks upon them with keen eyes. Instantly, guilt and shame coats her tongue as realization crashes into her like a double decker bus.

_I have fucked six men tonight._

The blunt statement of her actions leaves her numb as tears prick the back of her eyes. Stealing a deep breath, she looks down at the young man and smiles. “You did famously.”

“You are amazing, Bernadette. If I wasn’t set to marry in a fortnight, I would ask you to become my bride.”

Shelagh lifts herself up from him, his semen dripping onto his leg as his cock shrinks out from the rubber.

“Well gentlemen, as much as we want to continue on with the party, it is time for us to take our leave,” Lindsey pouts as the men boo her. “Fear not, gentlemen, you may retain our services if you shall ever feel the need to have an experienced woman.”

“May I, uhh, see you again?” The young man looks to her with bright eyes and she has to violently stop herself from telling him to fuck off and to be faithful to his new bride.

Instead, she gives him a smile that feels more like a grimace, “Call the number on the card and I’m sure we can set something up.” She stands up and marches to her clothes.

“I will!” He calls out after her retreating form. Ducking into the bathroom, she immediately turns on the sink. Grabbing her mouth with both hands, she screams in her palm as quietly as she can. The shame of her activities tonight clings to her sweaty body.

Splashing the water onto her red cheeks, she glances up at her reflection in the mirror. The sight nearly has her running towards the toilet. Her cheeks are pale, her eyes are gaunt, and a heady mix of sweat and semen lies plastered along her clammy skin.

Gathering the soap, she gives her face and arms a good rinse. After, she carefully pieces all of her clothes back on her body. The streets of Poplar are typically barren at this time of night, yet, she has seen few people walking about. No use giving someone anymore ammunition against her or Patrick, especially if she sees that nurse from earlier.

“Bernadette?” Lindsey knocks on the door and calls out through the crack, “Are you okay?”

Shelagh opens the door and gives a small smile. “I’m ready to go.”

Lindsey lays her palm on Shelagh’s forehead. “You don’t look so good.”

Shelagh closes her eyes and leans into the cool hand, “I’m just a wee bit tired.”

“Now I know your sick,” Lindsey rolls her eyes, “you’re Scottish accent is coming through.” She wraps her arm around the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Come along, most of the men have left. I have the money in both of our purses and I have called Elizabeth to have Jamis pick us up.” They make their way to the door. “He should be here by now. It’s not too far from the main house.”

Unable to put up resistance, Shelagh follows through to the elevator and the deserted lobby to see Jamis waiting for them with the car.

“Good morning, Ms. Lindsey and Ms. Bernadette.” The older colored gentleman looks over at Shelagh with concern clouding his gentle eyes. “You don’t look so good, Ms. Bernadette.”

“I’ll be alright, Jamis.” Shelagh sighs against the soft leather seat. “I’m just a bit tired.”

“After meeting with Ms. Elizabeth, I’ll be happy to take you home.” His eyes flick over to the other lady in the car, “same goes for you Ms. Lindsey.”

“You are one of a kind, Jamis,” Lindsey gives him a kind smile.

“First stop, Ms. Elizabeth’s house,” he calls over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

“Last stop, Ms. Bernadette.” Jamis turns in his seat with the dip of a concerned brow. “Would you like me to help walk you in?”

Shelagh pulls herself up and gives the older man a kind smile. “No Jamis. I can take it from here.” Just before she opens the door, she leans over the front seat and asks, “How did your grandson do in his football tournament?”

Jamis shakes his head and smiles, “Two goals, ma’am.”

“You know, if I was a gambling woman, I would bet that he’s going to be picked up by a league real soon.” She claps him on his shoulder. “You should be so proud of him.”

“I am, very proud, Ms. Bernadette. Thank you for asking about him.”

“Hey, all I want is an autograph when he becomes world famous from winning the World Cup.” She pulls out her handkerchief and coughs into the soft cloth. Stuffing it back into her purse, she pulls out some money and hands it to Jamis. “Now, before we dance this dance we always have on nights like these, Mr. Fred Astaire, can you just go easy on me and take the money as a thank you for driving me all the way back to my home?”

He sighs, “You know how I love to samba, however,” he gives her a bright smile, “I’ll take it just this once.”

“Good night, Jamis,” she pats his shoulder before stepping out of the car. Walking up the stairs to her flat, she mentally puts the rest of her night in sequence; food, bath, call Patrick, bed. _And strictly in that order._

“Hello,” Patrick pushes off of her front door when she walks up the last few stairs.

Gripping the banister, Shelagh slaps her hand over her racing heart. “My goodness! You gave me such a fright.” Feeling her face flush, she places her cool palm over her forehead.

“Lindsey called me,” he watches her with keen eyes as she passes by him. “She said that you looked under the weather.”

Stepping through the door, she drops her keys and purse onto the table. “Surely your time can be better spent, oh I don’t know, in bed asleep.” She rolls her eyes as she makes her way towards her bedroom.

“I couldn’t sleep and don’t get mad at Lindsey for calling me.” He tips his head to the side as he mentally diagnoses her from afar. “You do look terribly unwell.”

“Patrick,” she stops before crossing the door into her room and sighs for what seems the millionth time within the span of an hour, ignoring the disgusting taste of the same named man from earlier, “I’m hungry and dirty and tired. All I want is food, a good clean bath, and my bed. Last I checked, you were neither a delicacy, a porcelain bowl big enough to support steaming hot water, or furniture. I can take care of myself.”

“Very well,” he calls out to her retreating figure, “however, I have brought food for you.”

“How?” Shelagh peels off her clothes one layer at a time, content with burning her clothes, never wanting to look at them for as long as she lives. “Timothy has told me numerous times that you are not a good cook.”

“The worst, yet, being a doctor here has some perks, like getting some fruits from the market or purchasing a few biscuits before the bakery opens.”

Threading her arms through her cotton robe, a smile, small in form, painfully cracks along her cheeks. Stepping into the bathroom, she turns on the faucet to fill her small tub. Adding some Epsom salts and a hint of lavender oil, she then walks back out into the sitting area where she sees Patrick pouring over his notes. Leaning against the her bedroom door, nostalgia pounds against her skull. “It doesn’t seem as if it has only been eight hours since seeing you in here like this. I swear, I feels more like a lifetime ago.”

He looks up, his notes long forgotten, and takes in her form with the gentleness of doctor’s eyes. “Relax, Shelagh. If you want I can bring you your food while you take a bath.”

“And see me naked?” She slyly grins.

“I hate to break it to you,” he stands up and makes his way towards her kitchen, “but I’ve seen numerous naked bodies before.”

“I have too,” she quips back, “but at least the bodies I’ve seen were not in the stages of labor or in pain.”

He comes to her with a glass of water. “Go get yourself settled and let me take care of you.”

Shame of her earlier actions coats her tongue, the tenderness between her legs becoming more apparent. “What did I do to deserve you?” Her question had meant to be rhetorical, yet it slithers out from her lips as a whisper.

He leans forward and kisses her forehead, “I love you, my dear. Now go into the tub, I’ll be there soon.”

Capturing his lapel before he pulls away from her, she kisses his cheek and steals a few seconds to nuzzle in the curve of his neck. “Thank you.” She kisses him once more before leaning out of his embrace. Giving him a small smile, she turns and walks into her bathroom.

Divesting herself of her robe, she gingerly settles her tired and aching body into the steamy water, hissing as it stings her overly used muscles. Just as she leans back against the porcelain, Patrick knocks on the bathroom door. “Come in, Patrick.” The use of his name now meeting her with comfort rather than disgust, a true sign that the activities from the night are melting away.

He shuffles in with his eyes averted towards a small spot above her. “I have a banana and a few biscuits.”

“Patrick,” she draws her knees up to her chest, “thank you for not looking, but let’s not pretend that we didn’t have a hot and heavy snogging session on my sofa a few hours ago.”

His ears glow bright red, “I have not forgotten, I just don’t know if you want me to see you so soon after your… after your evening.”

Depression blankets her shoulders as the memory of her night resurfaces. Utter shame prickles at her scalp at the amount of penises that she had in her body. “It’s at times like these, I wish I had never agreed to do this job.”

Sitting down on his knees behind her, he places the plate next to her before picking up the washcloth from the side. Dipping it into the warm water, he pushes her hair over her shoulder and begins to wash her back.

“You are too good for someone like me,” she lays her head on the bony curve of her knee, “especially after tonight.”

He washes down the side of her arms and around her neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You would be disgusted,” she whispers, tears, mixing with sweat, silently running down her cheeks into the water.

“There are bruises covering your back and of all different shapes and sizes.” He kisses her shoulder. “I’m sure the same can be said for the front of your body as well.”

His lips graze her skin again, as gentle as the wind off the beaches at Brighton. She doesn’t want to tell him, fearful that he will truly find her as wretched as she finds herself to be. Yet, she had learned through this same profession that omitting things is just as bad as lying. _Perhaps this will be his breaking point. Perhaps he will realize that finding a nicer girl would be better for him in the long run._ “I was at a party tonight with Lindsey.”

Her silence cuts through the steam, yet it doesn’t stop him from laying a small kiss along her other shoulder.

She can feel her heart pounding against her thighs, her mouth dry as cotton as she tries to formulate her words. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She never wants to, not like this. “Never mind.”

“Did someone hurt you,” he sharply asks.

“No!” She looks at him over her shoulder and softly murmurs, “No.”

There is a pain reflected in his eyes as he grits his teeth. If she were to have guessed, she would say that he is holding back what he really wants to ask, which makes this conversation all the more painful.

“I’m ready to get out now,” she pulls the plug and stands from her spot. Reaching for her towel, she sees through the mirror’s reflection that he has turned away from her, willing to once again to give her the boundaries she neither asked for nor is used to receiving. Stepping out, she wraps her towel around her body and takes the plate of food. “Thank you.”

He follows her out to her bed. “Do you need any medicine?”

“No, I just need some rest.” She takes a bite of her bread. And then another. And another. Then she devours her banana. “Thank you for the food. I’ll be happy to pay you—”

“No. I won’t take your money.” He remains standing, never assuming that he is invited onto her bed.

She smirks, “That’s my line.” Her face falters when he doesn’t even crack a smile. “I’ll tell you, but you have to be able to lie with me in the dark.”

His brow furrows in confusion, “What do you mean?”

She is already at her drawers picking out her pajama set when she glances over to him, “I mean, I don’t want to look at your face, but I want you close by. Do you mind if we snuggle together?”

“Just as long as we still have Brighton.” He turns away from her and bends down to untie his shoes.

“We’ll see,” she mutters under her breath. Silence reigns supreme as both fiddle with their buttons.

He lays his hands over her shoulders and kisses her jaw, “I heard you.”

She twirls around and wraps her arms around his waist. “I don’t think I could physically see you disgusted at me.” The scent of him – a mix of his cologne, antiseptic, cigarette smoke, and her lavender oil – calms her nerves.

“Oh, my love,” he sighs as he kisses the top of her head.

“I had sex with six men tonight, Patrick.” His arms tighten around her as his lips stop their ministration. “Six and, by the end of it all, I felt every bit of a whore as what you are thinking right now.”

She can hear his heart hammering and feel the change in his breathing as she presses her ear against his chest. “Did they, umm, was it all… was it… at once?”

“No, but does that make a difference?”

He kisses the top of her head again. “I am but one man. If it takes six to pleasure you, then it would make a world of difference.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs into his buttons, “I’m sorry that you fell in love with me. I’m sorry you have to contend with my job, with the other men.”  

He pulls back a bit and lifts her unwilling chin with the edge of his finger. “I am never sorry that I fell in love with you. We just have more obstacles in our path towards happiness than most other couples, but I would never, never, trade this relationship or you for something society would deem proper.” He kisses her lips, gently like the brisk warm breeze on a spring morning. “I love you.”

Tears are streaming down her cheeks, “I have fallen in love with you and I’m so scared that I will do something to make you run away.”

He catches many of her tears with his thumbs. “Then as hard as it may seem, please do not keep these things from me. Don’t hide them, talk to me even if you think I’ll be disgusted or ashamed.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “Please?”

“I promise and I promise, the day my debt is paid off, I will be yours forever, if you’ll have me.”

His eyes light up, the first time since she had walked in. “I will always want you, despite what you think about yourself.” He kisses her soundly, putting forth all of his love in that one kiss. Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispers, “I love you to Brighton, to Paris, to the moon and back.”

She closes her eyes and allows the feeling melt along every inch of skin. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

She opens her eyes, “I know you so little.”

He kisses her forehead, “But I couldn’t be more certain.”

“Patrick.”

“Shelagh.”

“I love you.”

He smiles at her. “I know.” He pulls away from her, “Come. You need to rest.”

She settles into her bed, “Lay down with me.”

He walks to the other side and lays down on top of the blanket. Turning onto his side, he throws her arms around her waist and pulls her closer to his body. “Good night my dear.”

“Good night.”

 

* * *

 

The morning light coming through the windows stings Patrick’s eye lids, beckoning him to wake up. Inhaling the scent he had never smelled in his bed before, a small smile stretches along his cheeks as he reaches over to the woman he had snuggled with just a few hours prior.

When he feels nothing but crumpled sheets, he opens his eyes wide and sits up. Before he can call out her name, the smell of bacon assaults his senses and his stomach growls in hunger.

“Good morning,” she calls out to him, standing beside her door. “I made you breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast, and black coffee.”

He straightens up against the headboard, his suit wrinkled beyond what is proper from the few hours of sleep in her bed. “Come along then,” he gives her a bright smile, “we can share.”

She settles in next to him, placing the tray between their legs. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” She steals the first piece of toast and smears jam on it. “Within my short time as a postulant, I had become accustomed to waking rather early, despite late nights,” she crunches down into her toast.

“I’m usually such a light sleeper, having to hear for the telephone and such, but I guess I was more tired than I thought,” he takes his second piece of bacon. “You are looking a lot better than when I first saw you when you came back.”

“I was able to get some much needed rest.”

Silence enraptures the room as they both continue to eat, their food far more interesting than the possibility that the other might recant what was said last night.

“That was amazing,” Patrick murmurs, the last of the eggs eaten with gusto.

“I’m glad you like it,” she picks up the tray. “Why don’t you take off your clothes so that I can iron it out for you.” She tilts her head to her closet, “There’s a robe in my closet and I put an extra toothbrush out next to the sink.”

“How long have you been up?” He stands and pulls out his wrinkled shirt from his pants.

“Since the sun came up,” she throws over her shoulder as disappears out of the door.

Catching his laugh in through his nose, he lays his shirt on the end of the bed before unbuckling his trousers. Once he is down to his boxers and vest, he opens her closet, his stomach drops at the amount of clothing. A myriad display of colors, fabrics, and styles stares back at him, _no doubt from the stores that can be found in Paris_.

Running his fingers along one of her silky dresses, he looks through the closet to find the robe. Just as he tucks an emerald dress to the side, that’s when he sees the black lace. “Bloody hell,” he murmurs as he takes one off of the rack.

“Marilyn Monroe.”

Startled by the voice behind him, the crash of the wooden hanger has him blushing bright red. “Oh, umm, I’m sorry.” He picks up the black negligee and shoves it back in the closet. “I don’t mean to pry, I just…, uhhh…”

“Do you like it?” She reaches past him and pulls out a plaid robe.

“Well, I, uhh, I would need to see it, uhh, on you,” he gives her a sly grin as he threads his arms through the robe.

“Really?” She fixes the lapels and ties the sash for him. “You’re not sounding as cheeky as that bold statement, Doctor Turner.”

“I can be rather bold when need be,” he stills her hands and lifts them to kiss her knuckles.

“Maybe if you’re a good boy, I can model it for you,” she twists her fingers around and kisses his knuckles.

“I shall endeavor to be a model citizen,” he takes a step back, “after I brush my teeth.” Slipping into the bathroom, he goes about his normal routine as if he were at home. Once his teeth are brushed and his unruly hair has had a comb through, he walks out into her living area.

“Your trousers were easy enough to iron through, its your shirt that is giving me the trouble.” Shelagh glances over her shoulder, “I think you might need a new one. The fabric is thinning from wear and I think one of the buttons doesn’t match the others.”

“My own fault, I’m afraid. I have my clothes sent out for dry cleaning, however, they receive the same wash as the maternity home linens.” He has the decency to look sheepish, “And the button was my doing, it was the closest one I could find that looked like it matched.”

“Not even close, dear.”

He settles down on the couch, “One of the lessons Lindsey is going to help me with is clothing.”

“You’re going to need a months worth of lessons by the look of things,” she mumbles under her breath.

He bites down on his bottom lip, “Mariann used to pick out clothing for both of us. Ever since she died, I didn’t know how to carry on, so I figured that I would use the clothes that we have until they fall apart.”

The smooth lines of the iron stills, “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You had other things to worry about other than clothing.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I am the first person to say that my homely duties were never up to par and I’m sure Timothy would give a resounding vote of approval.” He looks around her bright and airy flat, “I’m not the best homemaker, however, I can still give help when help is needed. Is there anything that you would like me to do?”

“Such as?”

“I can dust or mop or clean dishes,” he happily calls out.

“The dishes from this morning are already drying on the rack and I typically clean every Monday and Thursday.” She unplugs the iron and sets it upright on the board. “Besides, I was able to take out most of the wrinkles from the night. If you would like, you can change back into your clothes.”

He stands and takes the offered clothes.

Slipping back into the bedroom, he is buttoning up his still warm shirt when she calls out from behind him, “I meant what I said last night.”

“It was lovely to hear you say that you lo—”

“Bernard had offered to pay me £3,000 to go to Paris with him for the week.” She stares at the floorboards underneath her bare feet. “I would have made enough commission to pay off my debt and then some, but I refused. I could have been done with this mess in one weeks time, but at what cost to you, to us?”

“You could have done it. I would have still been here.”

“Then last night…,” she swallows hard as if her words are glued to her throat. “Last night, I had sex with six men. But that wasn’t the worse part…,” she bites down on her bottom lip, “one of the men, the youngest one set to marry in a fortnight, asked to become a regular of mine and, at that moment, I wanted to vomit.” She tightens her arms across her chest, “A young man, no older than thirty, with his whole life in front of him, and he could not remain faithful to the woman he had professed his love to.”

“Oh, my darling,” he rushes over to her, “you just tell me the word and I’ll gladly pay off the rest of your debt.” He gently lifts her chin with the curve of his finger.

“It’s not that and you know my answer, it’s just…,” she runs her fingers through his hair, “my love comes with baggage, so heavy and bothersome that I’m not sure you would be able come out of this unscathed.”

“I love you and you love me and I know that we will conquer this obstacle, battle through the fog, and be victorious. I have to believe that because I know that love is just, and kind, and that it will never fail.”

She wraps her arms around his waist, the warmth of her cheek sending his heart into a frenzy. “After the lives we have both lived, we know each other so little to feel something so big.”

He kisses the top of her head, “That’s where our lives become spectacular.”

She lifts her chin, her eyes clearer than that of the purest water, “I am in love with you, Patrick Turner.” She runs the pad of her thumb along his bottom lip, “And, even though it should scare the hell out of me, it’s as warm and inviting as your embrace.”

“I will do everything that I can to make you feel safe and loved.”

“Our love…,” she bites down on her bottom lip, “our love is dangerous. Your embrace is something that I cherish, but I have to be careful to not show this type of contentment to my regulars or to Liz.” 

“I understand, and like I have said numerous times before, I am a patient man.” He kisses her forehead. “I have to get going. I have to pick up Timothy from Granny Parker and I have to make a few rounds.”

“Then I’ll save the modeling for next time,” she kisses his cheek before taking a step out of his embrace.

“I can hardly wait,” he gives her a sly grin, “although, I think I would much prefer to see you in something that no other man has seen you in.”

“Consider it done,” she lift his hand and kisses his palm. “Your jacket is hanging by the door, just above your case.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any medicine?”

“No, now go and pick up that dear, sweet boy of yours.”

He salutes her, “Yes, ma’am.” She follows him to the door. “I’ll call you later.”

“Goodbye, Patrick Turner.” With a quick peck on her cheek, he is out the door with both his coat and case.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the next few chapters down, but I'm having the hardest time nailing down a few important scenes. Blah! However, there are only a few more chapters left! Thank you again to all those who continue to support this story! You guys rock!

“Do you want a cigarette?”

Shelagh gives Lindsey a small smile, “I shouldn’t, I’ve been smoking way too much.”

“That’s utter nonsense,” Lindsey steps into the tub, “besides, everyone knows that there is nothing more satisfying than a cigarette after sex.” She settles into the hot water of the bath, both women snuggling close to each other. “Especially if the sex was as amazing as it has been tonight.”

Shelagh holds out her fingers, the taste of the cigarette smoke making her mouth water. “You have been rather vivacious tonight.” Taking in her first puff, she savors the rush of nicotine, “You allowed me go down on you.”

“While Martin was fucking you from behind, I was feeling a little lonely,” Lindsey steals her cigarette back. “He wants you as a regular.”

Her fingers flutters through the tiny bubbles, “Who?”

“Martin.” Lindsey smothers the cigarette in the ash tray.

“He’s your regular. I’m not going to take him on as a regular.”

“I told him that you were going to play hard to get,” she leans back against the porcelain. “It won’t bother me if you take him on as a regular. He told me that he wants to keep both of us; me on some nights and you on the others while we keep our doubles night.”

Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, “I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“If you want to, take the job.” Lindsey buries her hand under the water, her fingers gliding along Shelagh’s thigh. “You don’t have a deceptive bone in your body.”

“He is yours plain and simple.” Shelagh laces her fingers in with Lindsey’s, their palms kissing.

“Patrick is yours,” Lindsey whispers, “yet, you have no problem with me having him over.”

“Yes, but he’s not paying for your time.” Shelagh lifts her free hand from the water and sweeps her thumb along Lindsey’s cheek.

“No, he’s not,” Lindsey kisses along the line of Shelagh’s jaw, “however, you are in love with him and you trust me with him.” Lindsey’s hand slips out and flutters between Shelagh’s legs. “I trust you with Martin.”

Despite the distractions, Lindsey’s meaning has her asking, “Are you in love with him?”

“I like his dick.”

Shelagh pushes Lindsey’s hand away, “Don’t play coy.”

It’s Lindsey’s turn to nervously bite down on her lip, “I like his company.”

“I thought there were other women on the side.”

“I thought so too, but then our twice-a-week dates slowly turned into five times a week.” Lindsey lays her head on Shelagh’s shoulder. “When I brought it up, he said he didn’t mean for it to happen, that he enjoys our time together.”

“You can’t stay in this profession forever.”

“No, but I don’t want to settle down and marry either.”

“Is that what he wants?”

“He wants me to stay with him.”

“You would get bored rather quickly.”

“I told him that,” Lindsey wraps her arms around Shelagh’s waist. “I told him that he needs to experience another woman without me.”

“Do you really want that?”

“Do you want Patrick to have sex with another woman?”

Silence permeates the tiled room, the rush of the water lapping against the porcelain serving as a distraction. “I’ve told him that I love him.”

Her whispered confession causes Lindsey to lean out of their embrace, “My darling girl, are you sure that is wise?”

“I told him about the six men and about Bernard. He loves me, Linds. Even after all of that, he loves me.” She shakes her head, the heaviness of their conversation weighing down on her shoulders. “Why should I keep denying him the truth?”

“And you trust him?”

“As passionately as I trust you.”

“I trust you with Martin.”

“I will only agree to it if he asks me with his own free will.”

“Fair enough,” both women wrap their arms around each other, the bubbles dying along their slick skin.

After a few moments, the close of a door resounds off of the walls in the flat. Peeking his head through the bathroom door, Martin grins, “I half expected to see one of you sandwiched between the others thighs.”

“Our night is nowhere close to being finished,” Lindsey soothes. “Not to mention, you can’t see past the top of the water.” She scoots closer to Shelagh. “There’s enough room for you.”

“I think I would prefer to watch this one,” he settles against the vanity seat.

 

* * *

 

—Ring,Ring—

“Turner here,” Patrick balances the phone against the curve of his shoulder as he stretches to reach a stack of files.

“I liked it better when you included the doctor bit.”

Patrick freezes, the familiar snarky voice igniting memories of not-so-long ago. Tipping across his chair to make sure no one is close to the door of his office, he murmurs into the receiver, “Hello.”

“You know, people become more suspicious if you are caught whispering madly into the telephone rather than if we were to have a normal conversation.” Lindsey sighs, “I’ll make this quick, seeing as you are a busy man; this Friday you are going to drive me to Selfridge’s.”

“I am?”

“Of course! This is after I go through your wardrobe, so you will need a few clothing items.” He can hear the mirth in her voice as the burning crackle of her cigarette comes through loud and clear. “Unless you would prefer to see your patients in the nude.”

“What are you talking about,” he exclaims, his frustration reaching its limit.

“Although, from what I had seen last Friday, doctors in the buff would do a world of difference in caregiving.”

“Lindsey,” he growls into the phone.

“Uh oh, be careful now,” she clicks her tongue, “you wouldn’t want anyone to know that you are conversing with a person whom may or may not be a woman named ‘Lindsey’.”

“What are you going on about?” He nearly throws the phone across his office.

“You wish to exude more confidence with our friend, well, I had told you that the first place to start is your appearance.” She pauses for a moment for him to remember that specific conversation. “While your knack for tie choices has endeared you to Shelagh, I don’t see how your confidence will increase with your frumpy attire.”

Patrick looks down at his clothes, the hazardously knitted holes in his sweater vest and his thinning trousers stares back at him. “I should be finished with my rounds by five in the evening.”

“Good man,” he can hear her grinning through the phone. “I’ll see you on Friday.” And with the click of the phone, she was gone.

Staring down at the receiver, Patrick idly wonders just what he is getting himself into.

 

* * *

 

—Ring,Ring—

Shelagh bites down on her thumb nail as the phone continues to ring. It’s a nasty habit that only rears it’s head when she feels the weight of the world on her nervous shoulders.

“Martin Hendricks.”

“Hello Martin,” she shyly murmurs, "Bernadette here."

“Hello Bernadette,” he whispers back. “Did Liz call you?”

“Yes and, of course with you being a loyal customer, she approved our date for this Friday. Did you want to meet for dinner or drinks before?”

“Drinks, down in the lobby, would be wonderful.”

“Then it’s set. I shall see you at six in the evening on Friday.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me too,” Shelagh smiles before hanging up the phone.

 

* * *

 

“Timothy!” Patrick covers the phone as he continues to hope that Lindsey will pick up. “Timothy!”

“There’s no need to bellow,” Timothy licks the rest of the jelly from his fingers, “I’m right here.”

“I just received a call from Granny Parker that she is taken ill with the flu,” Patrick quickly looses hope as the ringing continues on without an answer.

“Will she be okay?” He scrunches his brow in deeper thought. “I won’t be able to go over. I won’t be able to finish the airplane model before the next cubs meeting.”

Patrick slams the phone down. “No you won’t, I’m afraid.”

“Can Ms. Shelagh come over?” His eyes brighten like that of a new coin.

“She’s working tonight. I also had a meeting tonight that I’m trying to cancel,” he dials the phone number again, now having it memorized from the numerous frantic calls he has placed since learning of his occupied night.

“Who are you meeting with tonight?”

“Never you mind,” the ringing continues on. “If you could, please—”

—Knock,Knock—

“I’ll get it,”Timothy turns and darts down the hall.

Hanging up the phone, Patrick runs after him, “Timothy, wait!”

“Hello, you must be Master Turner,” the smooth voice of Lindsey filters down the hall.

Squeezing between his son and the door, Patrick huffs out of breath, “I apologize, but I just found out that Timothy’s granny has the flu.”

“Is she your meeting?” Timothy’s eyes looks onto the new woman with curiosity.

“Timothy, don’t be rude,” Patrick chides, “this is Ms. Lindsey and—”

“What about Ms. Shelagh?” Timothy turns and eyes his father crossly, “Did you botch it up with her? I told you to pay attention to her.”

“And with my help, he’ll have less of a chance to botch it up, I assure you.” Lindsey holds out her hand to Timothy, “I’m Lindsey. I’m a good friend to Ms. Shelagh and she had put me to the task of helping your father look his best.”

The young man takes her hand, “You mean with his clothing?”  

“Yes, if that is alright with you,” she gives him a kind smile.

“Before my mum died, she would take care of the clothing for both of us, yet since, he has slacked off,” Timothy widens the door, moving to the side to let her in. “He needs to look his best if he’s to keep Ms. Shelagh happy.” He closes the door, a cheeky grin playing along his lips, “I read that in a magazine.”

“Bloody hell,” Patrick sighs as he falls against the wall.

“Those are very wise words to live by, especially when you become old enough to make a girl happy.” Lindsey takes off her coat and hangs it on the hook. “Now Timothy, I’m going to need your help. Your father is a good man, however, I have the feeling that he’s also rather clingy. Do you mind helping us sort through his clothing?”

“Wait,” Patrick straightens up, “what?”

“Sounds like a splendid idea,” Timothy exclaims, already making his way towards his father’s bedroom.

“Spit spot,” Lindsey flicks her wrists in the same direction, “It’s time for spectacular to happen.”

“Great,” Patrick moans as he reluctantly follows after his son.

 

* * *

 

“Good evening, Mr. Hendricks,” the bartender sets out wooden coaster on the bar, “the usual for yourself?”

“Yes, Joseph, thank you, and the young woman will have a glass of white wine.”

When the bartender slips away, Shelagh turns to Martin and smiles, “Thank you for the drink.” She wraps her fingers around his arm, “After this round, what do you say that we bring a bottle of wine upstairs with us?”

“Sounds marvelous, my dear,” he nervously chews on the inside of his cheek as the bartender drops off their drinks. “Joe, after this round, we will take a bottle of your best red back up to my flat.”

“Very well, Mr. Hendricks. Would you like me to have a butler ready it for you?”

“That is not necessary, however, we will need to take two wine glasses with us and a bottle opener.”

“Yes, sir,” the older bartender bows before going off to complete his task.

Martin raises his glass, “Here’s to you, my darling.”

“Here’s to our night,” Shelagh finishes before they clink their glasses.

 

* * *

 

“No, no, no!” Patrick holds his tie up high in the air. “Timothy got this for me for my birthday and I refuse to give it away.”

“But dad,” Timothy jumps up high in the hopes of snatching said garment from his father’s fingers, “I had picked it — uhh! — out when I was — uhh! — five. Ugh! Its got to — uhh! — go!”

“Patrick,” Lindsey sighs as she adds more clothing to the donation pile, including all of the sweater vests she can get her hands on, “I had told you that you will have to be brave. When your son tells you to give it up, then it’s time to give it up.”

“It’s not fair that you two are ganging up on me!”

“Daaad! You heard Ms. Lindsey, you look frumpy and outdated. Uhh!” He still tries to reach for the small scrap of fabric. “Don’t you want to make Ms. Shelagh happy?”

“Patrick, you should listen to your smart boy,” Lindsey moves on with sorting through his trousers. “He obviously wants to — what’s this?” She pulls out a white gift box.

“Wait!” Patrick throws the tie to his son and dives for the package.

However, Lindsey is quicker.

And so is Timothy, “Is that where you hide the Christmas presents?” The tie is thrown on the bed as he runs up to the box.

“It’s a present for Ms. Shelagh,” Patrick tries in vein to capture the box.

“Another scarf?” Timothy tips from one foot to the other, trying to catch a peek. “Why didn’t you tell me that you went back to Brighton to buy the green one?”

Lindsey opens the box, the sight of what she finds making her grin rather widely, “I’m afraid my dear boy, that it is nothing but a few books on religion.”

All desire to see the present fading as if he is a balloon deflating air, Timothy sulks, “Daaad! Why would you buy her books? You know she likes the green scarf.”

Patrick snatches the box away and closes it. “There’s nothing wrong with books,” he tells Tim. “And I don’t want to hear anything from the peanut gallery,” he throws at Lindsey.

“Cross my heart,” she marks an X across her chest. “Now Timothy, where is his underwear drawer?”

Rolling his eyes, he places the box above his wardrobe. When he turns back, she is already elbow deep into his boxers.

 

* * *

 

“You know, Martin,” Shelagh accepts her third glass of wine, “we don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“I do,” he murmurs, “I just want you to get comfortable.”

Silence. Other than various small talk, they have been surrounded by silence since coming up from the bar, awkward and pressing as if there is a purple elephant in the room.

If Lindsey were with them, she would have made a move or said something shocking. “It’s funny, without Lindsey here, I feel as if this is my first time with a customer.”

“Funny,” he smirks, however it has no hope of reaching his eyes, “I was about to say the same, except, for me, it feels as if I am underwater.”

Silence.

Shelagh is no stranger to silence, especially coming from a religious order, however this silence is beginning to make her temples pound. “When did it start?”

“What do you mean?”

“When did your infatuation with Lindsey change into something more?”

He shyly looks at her, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, “When she had taken me to Brighton.”

Not being able to hold in her laughter, Shelagh sighs, “Brighton has that effect on people.” Deciding to take the bull by the horns, she steals one more sip of her wine and places her glass on the table, “How about we take this to the bedroom and we take things slowly. No matter what happens, nothing will change between you and Lindsey.”

He nods, pulling her up by her hand and bringing her to his bed. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Shelagh turns away from him, "You sweet man," motioning with her eyes for him to unzip her dress, "you always say that." 

"Its the truth," once he accomplishes his task , he settles down on the edge of the mattress. "Come here," he widens his knees to accommodate her legs, "let me undress you."

 

* * *

 

“Now, see,” Lindsey takes a step back with a critical eye, “dark gray looks fabulous on you.”

Timothy mimics the same stance, “You look like another person.”

“Just you wait,” Patrick murmurs towards his son, “your turn will be coming up next.”

Timothy shrugs his shoulders, “Aunt Lindsey said that you’ll be taking me to the toy department after everything is said and done.” A small glint shines brightly in his eyes, “There’s a model tank that I’ve been wanting to get.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, “And what will be my prize after this horrific evening?”

Lindsey gently pats his chest, mindful of the pins placed by tailor, “That little white box will be your present.” She gives him a salacious wink before turning to the table of multi-colored ties. “Now what do you think of this one?” She holds up a burgundy colored tie.

 

* * *

 

“Ohh,” Martin runs his fingers through her hair, lightly tugging as the flat of her tongue draws a line from the hilt to the tip. “Fuck, your mouth is pure gold.”

Spreading her lips, she takes him in her mouth, her tongue swirling along the head. She palms his balls, fondling them as she relaxes the muscles of her throat to take him in further.

“Fuck, God!” He lifts his hips as he pushes her head down.

Excitement tingles all along her body. She loves what she can do to men in this position. Bobbing up and down, with her hand following her lips, she knows that it won’t be too long before he hits his peak.

Tasting his orgasm on the tip of her tongue, his body convulses as he cums. “Holy hell,” he barely breaths out, his fingers running gently through her hair.

Kissing the tip of his penis, she stands and pushes him back onto the bed with her pointer finger. “I assume that you have been paying close attention to Lindsey’s lessons?” He nods, totally enraptured by her. “Good. I want you to make me cum as hard as you just did.”

“And what will my prize be?”

Lindsey always made her lessons into fun games, complete with prizes of all sorts of pleasure. “Your prize will be seeing me next week.” She grins when she straddles his hips, “With the added bonus of tying me up.”

Sitting up and wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulls her down onto the bed. A feral look flashes across his eyes as he bounds onto his knees. “Consider it done.”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you.”

Lindsey smiles, the drinks she had been mixing perfected with a dash more of club soda. “See, I knew you would eventually find the upside to our little excursion.” She turns and hands Patrick his drink. “Your son is absolutely adorable. I can see why Shelagh is quite taken with him.”

“He is quite taken with her too.”

She pulls out two cigarettes from her handbag on the sofa, “I can tell,” she lights one, “he is very protective of her,” and she lights the other. She gives him one as he settles down next to her. “He was quite excited when I told him that Shelagh can cook up delicious pancakes.”

Patrick playfully rolls his eyes, “That boy loves pancakes almost as much as he loves his new model tank.”

“Well, cheers,” she holds up her glass, “to a shinier looking doctor and to match a shiny new toy.”

He clinks his glass against hers, “All done, thanks to you. I can’t wait to see Shelagh’s face when she sees me in my new clothes.”

“When’s the next time you will see her?”

“Her night is booked tomorrow with someone new, so perhaps on Sunday if all doesn’t go to hell in a hand basket.”

“Maybe you should take her on a picnic on Sunday.” Lindsey smothers our her cigarette in the ashtray. “The weather has been nice and she adores picnics.”

“Perhaps we will,” he takes his last puff before joining its counterpart in the tray, “Timothy will be spending the night with his friend tomorrow night since I am on-call.”

“Then it’s settled,” she pulls out a small book from her purse, “now, the next time we can meet is next Friday. How does that sound?”

He relaxes against the sofa, “What are we going to be discussing?” He takes a small sip of his drink.

“How to make a woman orgasm with your mouth.”

Patrick spits out his drink and slaps his hand against his chest to help control the crackling coughs.

“Come on, Patrick,” she pats him on the back, “you make it entirely too easy to get you riled up.”

“It’s not… everyday… you hear… something… like that,” he sputters through.

She snaps her book closed and sets it back in her purse. “I’ll see you next Friday at ten o’clock sharp.” She gives him a small smile before standing, “I can see myself out.”

He stands, his fist still laying against his chest, “Have a good evening.”

“Au revior,” she wiggles her fingers just before her figure is engulfed by the darkness of the hall.

 

* * *

 

“So how did the evening go?”

Shelagh pulls off her coat, mindful to keep the telephone balanced between her ear and shoulder. “All went well. What about you?”

“Nothing too monumental,” Lindsey answers back. “You’ll absolutely adore the look of your doctor.”

“I adore the look of him now.” Shelagh scrunches her brow, “You didn’t change his complete look?”

“He needed a full wardrobe change, darling. His clothes were terribly shabby, even his son agreed with me.”

“Timothy?” Shelagh toes off her heels. “I thought he was supposed to be at his grandmothers.”

“The grandmother came down with the flu.” After the silence stretches into a minute, she quietly adds, “I can see why you enjoy their company. They are quite funny, the pair of them. And Timothy adores you just as much as you adore him.”

“He is rather smart, such an inquisitive mind and all.” Shelagh takes a deep breath. “Did he keep the red and grey tie?”

“The checkered one with the abnormally large vinegar stain on it?”

“That’s the one!”

“Darling, Timothy threw that one out before I could even get my hands on it.”

“Damn,” she whispers.

“Don’t tell me that you liked that monstrosity?!”

“Of course not, but it would be great to use once we finally are able to go to Brighton.”

“Shelagh, the poor man has never licked pussy before. What makes you think he will know how to tie your kinky ass up?”

Shelagh rolls her eyes at the new slang, “It’ll be for me to tie him up.”

“You perverted cow!” Her loud laughter makes Shelagh grin. “He’s going to blow his load before you have a chance to finish the double knot!”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Poor man won’t even know what’s coming to him.”

“If we don’t get to it in Brighton, then we’ll definitely get it done in Paris.”

“Speaking of Paris, you will be tickled pink at what he got you as a present. I’ll give him credit where credit is due, he knows how to listen and to apply what he’s learned.”

Shelagh’s brow furrows in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“If I could tell you, I would, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise,” she taunts back. “How was Martin? Was he a good boy?”

“He’s always a good boy.” She bites down on her bottom lip, “It was a bit awkward at first, but then he remembered that this was not our first time together and he relaxed.” And before she has a chance to ask, she quickly fills in, “Just oral sex tonight, but with the promise of more next week.”

Silence rings loudly between the two wires, until Lindsey murmurs, “Good.”

“Do you want me to meet with him next week?”

“It depends. Do you want Patrick to learn how to lick pussy with me next week?”

Jealousy thumps against her chest at the thought of Patrick giving Lindsey pleasure. _He must feel like this every time I tell him about my various appointments._ Shelagh pulls out her pack of cigarettes and lighter from her purse, “If that is what Patrick wants.”

“You’re jealous.”

Shelagh rolls her eyes at her best friend stating the obvious truth.

“I heard your eyes rolling.” She takes a deep breath. “If you don’t want—”

“No!” Shelagh takes a puff. “I am jealous, but it’s ridiculous to feel this way especially with my profession.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she softly quips back, “not when I feel the same.” Silence erupts between the two women, the meaning of her words becoming tangible. “Fuck!”

Shelagh bows her head, the heaviness of her friends breathing coming through the phone. “It’s the last possible thing you would have ever thought would happen.”

“This is bloody shit! How the fuck did you deal with it?”

“I fought it at first, denied it, even when it was staring at me in my face. Then one night, my eyes opened and it is as if I could see clearly for the first time in a long time.” Shelagh steals another puff. “You have nothing stopping you other than fear.”

“It won’t last.”

“But wouldn’t it be spectacular if it did?”

“Fuck you.” With a slam, the line goes dead. Staring at the receiver, Shelagh sends up a silent prayer that Lindsey will take time for herself to think instead of acting brashly.  


	13. Chapter 13

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Shelagh hears as she opens the door to her flat.

Widening it to invite Lindsey in, she suppresses her laugh when she sees her favorite wine in her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I was a right old bitch to you.”

“Well, you didn’t have to hang up on me,” she sighs, “however that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to hate you for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” Lindsey thrusts the bottle of wine towards Shelagh, “because, frankly my darling girl, you are my best friend and, despite you leaving the job, I can’t see myself without having you by my side.”

Shelagh takes the bottle and brings it with her into the kitchen. “What did you do after you hung up?” She pops the cork out of the bottle.

“You mean did I fuck everything up with Martin or Liz?” Lindsey pulls down the wine glasses. “I might have been mad, but I’m not completely barmy.”

Shelagh rolls her eyes as she pours the sweet Merlot in the glasses.

“I did talk with Martin. I told him that I’m not ready to make such a big change.” Lindsey bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes looking every which way around the small kitchen. “I need a cigarette.”

“I’m all out.”

“You’re killing me!” Lindsey dramatically rolls her eyes as she makes her way towards her purse. Pulling out the prized pack, she grunts when there are only two left for her to smoke, “Fuck me.”

“I have already told you that I’m cutting back.”

“Yes, but your boyfriend isn’t. Why should you?”

“Because I’m not a smoker.”

“That is the biggest load of shit.” The moment the flame touches the tip, nicotine fills the air, making Shelagh's mouth water.

Despite all obvious ways to distract her, Shelagh doesn’t fall for it one bit. “What did you tell Martin?”

Lindsey’s brow furrows, “You know, don’t you?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“I told him that we should take a break from seeing each other. He asked if he should continue to see you. I told him that he is the paying customer and that it’s his choice.” Shelagh visibly winces. “As you can imagine, he didn’t take that bit too well.”

“He called me and told me that he was canceling Friday as well as our play dates.” Shelagh steals a small sip, frustrated that she is unable to enjoy the sweeter red. “Liz is absolutely furious.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten an earful of it since then.” She flippantly shrugs her shoulder, “So now that your Friday night is opened, what are you up to?”

“Bernard’s in town again.”

“No!”

Shelagh nods, “Called me not too long after Martin cancelled. I imagine Liz has something to do with this, but he said that he was in town for an emergency business meeting and that he had a few hours to kill before heading back to Paris.”

“Are you going to meet up with him?”

“Yes." Lindsey's brow furrows at her curt answer. "He said that he’s taken my final answer for what it is, it’s just he hasn’t found another woman to take my spot.”

“Don’t look at me,” Lindsey rolls her eyes as she crushes her cigarette, “I’ve got a date with Patrick.”

“What will be his lesson this week?”

“I was going to teach him the proper oral skills that has you squeezing those luscious thighs against my cheeks, however, I think I’m just going to take him to some of your favorite places.” Lindsey reaches for her last cigarette. “Are you staying in or going out?”

“What do you think?” Shelagh smirks. “Bernard said that this will be our last hoorah. I imagine he will want to go big for the occasion.”

“Does Patrick know that you are going out with Bernard?”

“Honestly, I haven’t seen Patrick since the night of the bachelor party. I’ve talked to him, of course, and he says that he’s been busy with these rash cases of tuberculosis.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip. “It’s one night, our last one for forever. I don’t think—”

“Shelagh, I don’t think that is wise.”

“I don’t tell him of all of my clients.”

“No, but Patrick felt insecure with your history with Bernard. If he should find out—”

“He won’t. Besides, it isn’t like I’m going to Paris with him. He only has me booked for a few hours.”

“It’s your choice, however, I still think you should tell him.”

“If I should see him before Friday, then I will tell him.”

“And if you don’t?”

Shelagh swallows the rest of her wine, “Then I will tell him when I see him.” Grabbing the bottle, she captures Lindsey’s hand and pulls her towards her bedroom. “Let me show you my new dress I bought for Brighton.”

 

* * *

 

“Well if it isn’t the handsome Doctor Turner as I live and breath,” Lindsey widens the door to let him in. “I must say, you are looking rather smart in your new suit.”

Patrick steps through, “All thanks to you, of course.” He can feel his excitement bubbling to the surface. “I just picked up the rest of my new suits and clothing.”

“Have you been able to see Shelagh at all this week?”

He shakes his head. He had hoped to have seen her after his excursion with Lindsey, however, he was called out with a case. After that, he’s had his hands full with the remaining families from the Lisbon buildings. Some of them had shown signs of tuberculosis and he has had to act fast to catch it before it spreads further. _If only we had those damn vans._

“Shelagh had told me that you were busy with patients,” she pats him on the shoulder to invite him to sit on her sofa, “I was surprised that you had not cancelled.”  

“I thought I had to, but then everything sort of fell into place.” His smile, though bright, does not reach his eyes. “Truth be told, I had wanted to spend my evening with Shelagh, however, she had told me yesterday that she was working.” After a quiet beat of his heart, he confesses, “She told me that she loves me, the last time we saw each other.”

“She had told me.”

“Having her love,” he glances up towards the ceiling, the feeling of a balloon expanding in his chest leaves him breathless, “means the world to me.”

“And her job?”

“It’s getting harder and harder to accept it.” The moment he left her flat, he had to fight himself not to turn around and go back. Numerous times, too many to count, he had to wrestle with himself not to call her employer just to pay off the remaining balance of her debt. “She is beautiful,” he whispers underneath his breath, "and to know what she does each night..."

“Is that the reason you have not seen her? All these patients to see?”

Her sharp words sends a shiver up his spine. “No. Those cases are as real as you and me. I just… She… I can’t…” he abruptly stops, his frustration getting the better of himself. “I’m jealous,” he finally sighs. “I’m afraid that she’s going to find some other chap, someone, like Bernard, who is more experienced than me.”

Lindsey reaches for her pack of cigarettes and offers him one. “Bernard is experienced and Shelagh enjoys her time with him,” he blanches at her use of present tense but he remains quiet. “However, she loves you and only you and men like Bernard, though flashy and seemingly perfect, falls to the wayside as nothing but yesterdays news.”

"Every time I think about her with someone else, it feels like a punch in the gut." He gladly takes the offered cigarette, its hazy smoke comforting him. "But, I keep reminding myself that she has a debt to pay down and, once she is at zero, she can be together." He takes a few puffs to steady his nerves. “She’s told me that she is now down to ninety-two pounds.”

“Double digits, eh?”

“I wanted to celebrate, but I also know she is busy.”

“Your celebration will be when she reaches zero. By then, she will be all yours and no one else’s.”

A pinprick of light pierces his confounded soul, “I’m going to take her to Paris. I’ve already started to make the arrangements.” In his own study, at certain times at night when Timothy is fast asleep, he envisions their trip to Paris more as a honeymoon, rather than a holiday. He’s even gone as far as stopping at a jewelers to look at rings.

“Patrick,” he glances over to her to see that she is studying him, “I’m going to show you a few places Shelagh enjoys going to.” She gives him a gentle smile, “Mostly restaurants we go to down Longford Street and, if you are feeling up to it, we can come back for the second half of your lesson.”

Disappointment stings his throat, but he quickly washes it away. He had wanted this lesson, the desire to become more confident in the art of pleasure to practice it on Shelagh. “I will be feeling up to it, if you are so inclined,” he stands up from the sofa and extends his hand out to her.

“Then how about our last stop will be at the pub,” she gives him a salacious wink, “that way we can get you nice and lubricated.”

 

* * *

 

“May I ask you something without you giving me a cheeky answer back?”

“You can try, but I won’t promise anything.”

Patrick tightens his grip on Lindsey’s hand, their camaraderie slipping into a comfortable friendship as they make their way towards their last stop before going back to her flat. “You’ve been a bit more subdue tonight.”

“That’s not a question.”

“No,” he rolls his eyes, “I know that. I want to know if you are alright.”

“Peachy darling.” He can see her fake smile miles away.

“I’m not one of your clients," they cross the street towards the pub. "You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“You are rather bold tonight,” she quips with the raise of her brow. “Do I give you any reason to be concerned?”

“Usually you are making jokes and laughing at my embarrassed expense, but you’ve been quiet tonight.”

“I’ve been a bit under stress lately.” He can see that she is chewing her bottom lip. “I guess because you are not a paying customer, I feel like I don’t have to put on my usual charming self.”

“You know every bit of my personal life, if you want to talk about it—”

“That’s kind of you, Patrick, really, but I can handle it. I’m a big girl and—”

“Is that Shelagh?” A familiar beaded dress catches his eye under the low lighting. He remembers that dress from the first time he had seen it on her body, his dreams of it slithering down of her curves still cause delightful dreams within his sleepless nights.

“Patrick,” Lindsey tries her best to pull him the opposite way, “let’s skip the pub and go back to my flat.”

He stops and stares at the couple. _She is working. Do you honestly want to see the man that is paying for her body?_ Shelagh reaches out and lovingly captures her client’s cheek within her palm. _To see his face every time I am with Shelagh? Does she think about him with she is with me? Do they fill her dreams like she does mine?_

“Patrick, come along,” Lindsey continues to pull him towards the crosswalk.

“No, you’re right. We can… we… can…,” with Shelagh’s attention now on Patrick, her client turns to see her distraction. Immediately, he feels his heart sink into the pit of his belly. “Is that Bernard?” Within a matter of seconds, confusion turns into anger which melds into cold, hard fury. 

“Patrick, we need to go,” he can barely hear Lindsey’s pleas as utter rage pounds against his eardrums, his heart barely able to keep up with his gasping lungs.

_Why would she be with him? She promised me that he was nothing but history. Was she lying? Was she seeing him on the side this whole time?_

“Patrick,” the lilt of her voice, which normally pulls him from his own nightmares, sets his teeth on edge. “I can explain everything.”

“No,” he pulls his hand from Lindsey and takes a step back, “I can see just fine.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You told me," gut wrenching agony claws against his throat, "promised me, that you would be honest with me."

“I’m sorry, but it’s—”

“For what? You were just doing your job?”

“Patrick,” Lindsey’s sharp voice cuts through the hazy fog, “why don’t we go back to my flat where the both of you can talk about this in a more private setting.”

“No,” he takes another step back, confusion crushing his windpipe. “I will just be made a fool.” He glances at the pub, most of the people sitting outside are watching their group with rapt attention. “Just…,” he drops his voice to a whisper, “just leave me alone.” He turns and walks away, every step away from her digging a jagged knife further into his heart.

 

* * *

 

Swallowing his fifth, _or is it possibly my sixth_ , drink in one gulp, Patrick signals the bartender for another one.

After that humiliating argument, he found the closest bar that he knew Shelagh would never find him in. Pain still sears along his chest like alcohol to a festering wound. _And what’s worse is that I want to go back to her on bend and knee._

“How about we make that one a double,” a woman, pretty under the rose colored glasses of his drunkenness, settles in the chair next to him. “I’ll pay this round.”

“You don’t have to,” his mumbling words crashes against the wood of the bar top.

“You look like you can use some company,” her eyelashes flutters along her soft cheeks. “Care to talk about it?”

“No, not parlic… particl…”

“Particularly?” She finishes his word with a coy smile.

The bartender drops off both drinks and goes back to the other patrons along the crowded bar.

“Well, if I’m going to buy you a round, you can at least tell me your name.”

“Patrick,” he nurses this one with a small sip, the sting of alcohol dulling as the deep wounds along his heart seems to widen. “And your name?”

“Sharon,” she holds out her hand, “it’s nice to meet you Patrick.” Her smile is dazzling, yet it does nothing to brighten the dim colors of his world. “What do you say, after this round, we go somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Then how about a place you can…,” her hand glides across his thigh and presses against the bulge between his legs, “beat out your frustration.”

He slowly looks down at his lap. Any other day, he would have pushed her away, told her that he was in a relationship with someone else, and would have easily walked away.

Tonight is not that night.

He swallows the rest of his liquid courage within one gulp, _if Shelagh can do it, then so can I._ He clumsily stands from his stool and lays down a few bills on the bar. “Lets go, then.”

Giving him a bright smile, she captures his hand and pulls him towards the back where the restrooms are located. She digs through her purse and pulls out a half-a-crown, “Go in and get a rubber. I’ll be waiting at the top of the stairs.”

Pushing open the wooden door, an older gentleman meets him by the sinks. Giving him the money, he plucks the rubber from the metal tray. Just as he is about to leave, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Shame tinges his cheeks at the determination he sees in his eyes.

_Never, in my right mind, would I ever consider doing something like this._ Yet, the memory of Shelagh reaching out and stroking Bernard’s cheek cruelly replays over and over in his mind, the sight of her loving smile causing that same jagged knife to plunge deeper.

“She’s not worth it if you have to think about it.”

Patrick turns to the older man, “I’m sorry?”

“Sharon. She’s not worth it if you have to think about what you want to do with her.”

“She’s done this before?”

The old man gives Patrick a pitiful smile, “She buys a round of drinks and then offers to take you somewhere quieter. In the end, you’ll be paying triple your bill.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, “Just my damn luck.”

“My advice is to leave and go back with your wife. Whatever it is that she did or didn’t do, if you have to think about going up those stairs, then Sharon isn’t worth it.”

“Even if she’s doing the same thing I’m about to do?” The thought of Shelagh in the throes of passion with Bernard between her legs, drives him out of the bathroom and up towards the stairs.

“What had taken you so long?”

“How much do you cost?”

She innocently bats her eyelashes, “Pardon me?”

He rolls his eyes. “How much will it cost me to get a quick shag from you?”

“Ten for the shag, fifteen if you want me to suck you off.” She squints her eyes. “You don’t look like a copper.”

“I’m not.” He stares at her, many images running through his mind, many voices whispering in his ear, many emotions bursting from his festering wound. "I've gotta go," he turns away from her, the money he would have spent on her pressing against his chest.

Making his way through the crowded bar, the warm air that hits him as he walks out suffocates him. He is hurting and, with the alcohol impairing his judgement further, he has to stop himself from going back up those stairs to take advantage of Sharon’s offer.

“Doctor Turner!”

“Bloody hell,” Patrick looks up towards the inky, black sky, the familiar voice nearly driving him back into the pub.

Bernard catches up, much to Patrick’s dislike. “I saw you in the pub, but I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Piss off,” Patrick continues aimlessly down the sidewalk.

“We didn’t have sex,” he yells out after him.

Patrick rolls his eyes, “And why would I believe you?”

“Because she is madly in love with you.”

Bernard’s words sting Patrick in a most vulnerable spot. “She… she’s made her stand quite clear.”

“Has she?” Bernard pulls Patrick around. “She’s willing to give up everything—”

Patrick rears back and punches Bernard square in the nose, “You bought her! How the hell would you know what she is giving up?”

“At least I have remained faithful to her,” Bernard lifts himself up from the ground, “can you say the same?”

And just like that, all the anger, all of the fight he had been desperate to hold onto, falls into tiny pieces at his feet. He had come so close to giving away the one promise he had made with himself after she had told him of her love.

“I can give her a life of comfort with as much love as you are willing to give yourself. If you can’t be the man she needs you to be,” Bernard snaps his jacket back into alignment, “then I will gladly pick up the slack. Good evening, Doctor Turner.” And within a blink of his tired eyes, Bernard disappears within the shadows of the street.

 

* * *

 

“Shelagh,” she can feel Lindsey’s eyes on her as she paces back and forth along the line of the sofa. “Shelagh, darling—”

“I know, I know,” she exclaims, “I should have told him, but I also wasn’t expecting Bernard to take me out. I thought it was going to be one last quick shag. Instead it was a bloody meal and drinks.”

“Patrick doesn’t know that.”

“I KNOW,” she screams, “and now he’s God-knows-where, most likely fucking the first easy woman he can find.”

“Do you think—”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he did.” Shelagh abruptly stops and twirls towards Lindsey, the tears she had been fighting since watching Patrick walk away on the sidewalk, easily gliding down her cheeks. “I went out and fucked other men all for the sake of a lousy debt.”

Lindsey captures Shelagh’s wrist, “Liz would have made—”

“She would have received her money. I just…,” she sighs as she falls down onto the sofa. “I just wish my debt didn’t come at a higher price of loosing a man that I love.” His eyes, haunting and unforgiving, stares back at her, “I damaged his heart, all for the sake of a lousy pound. I don’t blame him for hating me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He is angry, yes, confused, now more than ever, and heartbroken,” Lindsey runs her fingers down Shelagh’s hair. “He is madly in love with you. Give him a few days or a few weeks, you might be able to talk to him and to explain—”

—Knock,Knock,Knock—

"—to explain what happened." Lindsey kisses Shelagh’s forehead before stepping to the door and opening it.

“Is she here?”

From the sound of his blessed voice, Shelagh instantly stands up. “I’m here,” she calls out rushing to meet him. “Patrick, I want to—”

He greets her with a stack of bills being shoved in her face. “Here is your money.”

Her words are forced back down her throat, the love in his eyes now gone and replaced by indifference, while his bright smile is nowhere to be seen.

“You are drunk, Patrick,” Lindsey pushes away his offered money, “go home and sleep it off before you say something that you will regret.”

“I should have known,” his cold eyes bore into Shelagh, “that the only thing you would stay faithful to is money.”

His words physically slaps her in her face. “Patrick, please, let me explain myself to you.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, I finally understand.” The malice in his voice nearly has her doubling over in pain. “This is for the time I spent with you. Once your debt is paid, go and be with a man who can provide that money to you hand over fist.”

“Stop, Patrick, please.”

“You,” his voice breaks, “you made me believe that you actually loved me.” He throws the money down at her feet. “I will no longer be your fool,” he turns back towards the door.

“Patrick, please!” In a desperate attempt to keep him from walking out, she captures his hand, “You were never a fool. I am the fool for breaking my promise to you.” He tries to pull away from her, but she tightens her grip. “Bernard had taken me out for dinner, that’s it.” His fight, which begins to waver, ignites a fierceness in her. “Despite my broken promise to you, I love you with every inch of my soul.”

“I am nothing but a distraction for you, someone to blindly follow your leads.”

“You are everything to me and more.” She pulls him towards her and wraps her fingers along his neck, her thumb sweeping along his cheek. “I love you to Brighton. I love you to Paris. I love you to the moon and back.” Tears stream down her cheeks, her beaded dress catching them as the rapid beat of his heart against her resting palm begins to slow. “I messed up and I know that you hate me fo—”

“I don’t hate you,” he sighs under his breath, his arms timid as they slide around her body.

“You hate my job and my lifestyle,” she leans out of his embrace, “but I can’t stop until I am at zero.”

“I can’t keep doing this. I thought I could, I thought it would be so easy to let you have your life while I had mine and magically, at the end of your debt, we could live out the rest of our lives.” He looks down at her, her heart madly hammering against her chest as all hope leaves his eyes. “I can’t do it, not after seeing you with him.”

“Please, Patrick,” she holds on tight to him, desperation churning in the pit of her belly, “we can make this work.”

“I can’t,” he kisses her forehead, “and I was too foolish, too idealistic to think that we could.”

She closes her eyes, her tears flowing, “We still can.”

“Not while you still have this job.” His arms tighten around her body, his lips cool against her forehead. “You are a…,” he swallows the rest of his words. “I love you, but I can’t be the man you want me to be.” He captures her arms and pushes them down her body. With one more glance, he turns and walks out of the flat.

Watching helplessly as the door closes on his back, it doesn’t register that he’s gone until the click of the metal. “No,” she runs towards the door and almost makes it when a pair of strong hands grabs her around her waist.

“Let him go, Shelagh.” Lindsey’s words sounds muffled as Shelagh struggles to free herself. “You have to let him go.”

“No!” Shelagh pushes her away, anguish clawing along every inch of her skin. “He loves me. Didn’t you hear him? He loves me. And the only thing holding him back is this stupid job.”

“And what are you going to do?” Lindsey shouts out just as Shelagh grabs the door handle. “Are you going to go to Liz and tell her to shove it? Then what will happen?”

“I will be able to be with him.” Even deep, down in her stubborn soul, she knows that that is not the right answer.

“You’ve had it lucky with Liz,” Lindsey’s voice softens, “with your history with her, but if there is one thing I know, is that Liz loves money more than she loves anyone or anything else.”

Shelagh turns back towards the door, her forehead lying against the hard wood. “But he loves me and that is everything.”

Lindsey steps behind her, “We are whores, my darling girl, we don’t have the right to love, not when there is a debt over our heads.”

Shelagh glances over her shoulder, “You are in debt, too?”

“How do you think she keeps us?”

Slowly, Shelagh turns towards Lindsey. “For how much?”

“Ever since losing Martin as a client, I am now over six hundred pounds in.” Shelagh wraps her arms around her friend. “A number she gladly tells me every time I tell her to shove it.” Lindsey kisses her forehead. “You are in the double digits, my darling girl, make it to zero, leave, and never look back.”

“But what if he realizes that he doesn’t want me back?”

“Your main goal is to get out of the business. Once you have reached that, then I think a few other things will become a lot clearer.” Lindsey pulls her closer, “Be the girl that got away. Be the girl who chose love above everything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Tangledupinmist for your wonderful help!

“Ahem.”

Patrick barely registers the sound, the thumping against his skull begging him to keep his eyes sealed shut.

“Ahem.”

He can taste a mixture of vomit and alcohol in his mouth.

“Wake up!”

Frightened out of his soggy mind, Patrick jumps up from his chair before he opens his eyes. _Bad idea._ The light from the sun blinds him as the sudden movement does nothing to settle his stomach.

“Look at what the cat drug in.” Sister Evangelina’s stern voice grinds against his eye sockets. “What in the world of everything holy happened to you?”

Just as he opens his mouth to tell her to mind her own bloody business, God intervenes in the form of his body wanting desperately to expel all of the alcohol from his stomach. Grabbing the nearest trash bin, every last bit of his scotch comes out with gusto. So much so, that his body collapses into his chair.

“Are you quite finished?”

“God, I hope so.”

“Were you out late with your lady friend?”

“She was your friend before she became mine,” he quips back, the smell of perfume nauseating him as memories from the night begins to surface.

The moment he left Lindsey’s, he felt lost. He desperately wanted to go back, to beg for her forgiveness at his cruel words, to hold her and tell her how much he loves her.

Instead, he returned to the bar to make good on Bernard’s words. Sharon had met him instantly and instead of telling her to piss of, like he should have, he bought her a few drinks. Nothing went further than that, but if could have easily gone that way if he hadn’t got piss drunk.

“Trouble in paradise?” Sister Evangelina thankfully takes the offensive smelling bin out of the office.

“I’m in love with her,” the pain in his heart is choking, “apparently, it is not enough.”

“Love is always needed; you aren’t trying hard enough.”

He glances up at the hardened nun and immediately regrets the sudden movement. Gaining his equilibrium with a few deep breaths, he murmurs, “I gave it my all.”

“Bologna. If you had given it your all, then you wouldn’t be here in your current state.”

“Her job…,” vomit once again coats his tongue, “her job makes it difficult.”

“I’m sure it does, but, by your own admission, you fell in love with her. Didn’t you know that you have to love all of her, including the unsavory bits with her job and history.”

Clarity for the first time since seeing Shelagh with Bernard hits him in the gut. Shame drips down his throat. “But she broke her promise to me.”

“Haven’t you been listening to me at all?” She exasperatedly sighs at his blank stare, “If you love her, you have to love all of her. Promises will be broken at some point down the road, it’s our actions that speak louder than our words that will make the difference.”

_God, I’m a bloody coward. I left her when she needed me the most. What kind of man, who professes such love, does that?_

“Nurse Miller will be coming in with a fresh set of clothing. You should take a few aspirins and get as much fluids in as possible.” Sister Evangelina heads towards the door. “We have a full rota this morning so a good wash would do you good as well.”

“Yes, Sister.” Before she slips out, Patrick calls out, “Sister Evangelina? Thank you, for all of your help this morning.”

“While I’m not enthusiastic as to the type of job Ms. Mannion acquired after leaving the order, I have not seen you this happy in a long while.” She sighs, “There are many choices you make in life, however, you can’t choose the person you fall in love with. You just have to make sure that you hold on tight to them and love them back as hard as you can.” With one last smile, Sister Evangelina slips out of the office.

 

* * *

 

“Another happy customer,” Nurse Franklin’s smile brightens the room. “How perfectly marvelous.”

With the euphoria contagious, Patrick smiles widely. “Thanks to you, Nurse Franklin.” The muscles in his cheeks tires from the overexertion of use.

Within the past few days, there has been very little that had cheered him up. The memories from that horrid night replay over and over again like a bad record. Shame and, if he is being honest with himself, trepidation keeps him facing Shelagh like a man and asking for her forgiveness. _What if she would prefer Bernard over me? Especially after the way I treated her…_

“It was Susan who did all the hard work, I assure you,” her eyes twinkle with mirth. “Is there anything else that you need, Doctor?”

He was about to shake his head in the negative, when a thought crosses his mind. _I’ve got to be a better man, but I don’t know how. Maybe…._ “Actually, I have a question for you, if you don’t mind. It’s of a more personal nature.”

She gives him her full attention, “Of course, Doctor.”

“I have this, uhh, this friend and, well,” he can feel his ears beginning to burn from embarrassment, “well, I, uhh, I messed it up and—”

“Is this the same lady you have been seeing quite a lot from the buildings off of McCabe Street?”

“How did you—”

“Despite your attempts to sneak around, there are a few ladies from the same building who are smart enough to put two and two together.” She gives him a cheery smile, “Plus, I overheard some of the ladies talking at clinic.”

He can feel his face turn fiery red, “Oh, well, uhh, well I messed it up and how should I, well, is there a way I can, uhh…”

“A bouquet of flowers can go a long way. Maybe one sent with a personal note.”

“Right,” he nearly smacks his head, frustration from his stupidity reaching an all-time high. _I should have thought of that…_

“Although, she is a woman with refined tastes. I had run into her while checking up on Flora Cavill. She was on her way out to her waitressing job in Chelsea when I happened to notice that she had on these adorable pink champagne peep toe suede pumps from the Dior collection. There is a scarf that matches at Harrods. You might have more luck with that.”

_The green scarf!_ “Thank you, Nurse Franklin. I do appreciate your help on the matter.”

“Do make sure that the flowers are roses and that you buy ‘pink champagne’ pink rather than ‘pink roses’ pink.”

His brow furrows in confusion, “There’s a difference?”

She looks at him as if he has three heads coming out of his body, “Of course!”

He gives her a complacent smile, “Of course. Thank you again, Nurse Franklin.”

 

* * *

 

_I am sorry._

_Despite everything that was said and done, I do love you._

_Love, Patrick_  
  


Shelagh reads the note for the millionth time over Lindsey’s shoulder. His words lifting her higher and higher into the clouds.

“I can feel you breathing on me, you know,” Lindsey quips as she glances over her shoulder. She folds the note and hands it back to Shelagh. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.”

Silence settles between the two women within the the crowded bar, both taking a sip from their respective drinks. “What did the note come with?”

“A dozen roses and a green scarf I had admired when we had gone to Brighton for Timothy’s celebration.”

“When did he send it?”

“Last week.”

Lindsey takes a puff from her cigarette, “Did you call or visit him since?”

Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, “I wanted to go and see him, but I didn’t.”

“Finish out your debt darling girl.”

Shelagh takes a deep breath, that has been her mantra since Patrick walked out in her. She has gone through every struggling emotion since then, unsure if she can do it without the light Patrick brings to her life. However, knowing that she got herself into this debt and it’s her job to get herself out of it, she has pushed her erratic emotions off to the side – at least when she is in someone else’s company. “I know.”

“What are you down to?” Lindsey lights her cigarette.

“Seventy-nine pounds.” Shelagh hold out her fingers to take a puff. “I have negotiated with all of my regulars, hence how I was able to get this night with you.” She hands back the cigarette, the smoke stinging her nose as she blows it out. “Have you talked to Patrick at all?”

“Not since that night. I figured that if he wanted to continue lessons, that he would have called.” Lindsey finishes both her cigarette and martini, “It seems that he is feeling rather remorseful for his actions, but is still protective of his feelings.”

“I hurt him rather badly.”

“Yes you did,” Lindsey lays her palm on Shelagh’s knee, “however, he wants to still be with you. This job, your debt, all the men you are in contact with has taken a toll and, once you have rid all of them from your life, then you can think about spending your time with Patrick.”

Shelagh nods, finishing her glass of wine as she absorbs all of what Lindsey had said. “I miss him.” Shelagh looks up towards the ceiling and takes a deep breath, tears gather in the corner of her eyes. "I miss him so much."

“I know, darling girl.” Lindsey pats her hand. “Stay focused and never give Liz a reason to doubt you or to add more to your debt.” With a quick nod between both women, they stand as Shelagh pays for both of their drinks.

Walking across the lobby, it isn’t until the lift doors close when Shelagh gives the run down of her regular. “Jerry has been rather curious for a double act.”

“The chap that likes to be tied up?”

“With both wrists and ankles being tethered, the four-poster bed in this hotel makes it easier. He prefers to finish in my mouth, however I think that is more of the mindset that it would assure that no one gets pregnant.”

“Does he know how to lick cunt?”

Shelagh gives her a sly little grin, “One of my best students.”

“I will gladly be the judge of that.” When the doors open, both women walk down the corridor until they reach their room. “You take the lead on this one, my darling girl. If it becomes too much, let me know.”

 

* * *

 

“Ms. Shelagh!” Shelagh freezes at the voice shouting from behind her. “Ms. Shelagh!” Timothy comes running up to her from the fort he and his mates are playing in. “Ms. Shelagh,” he pants out of breath, “I thought it was you.”

_It figures. The first time I come to the market since ‘that night’ and I run into Timothy_. She keeps her sigh under her breath with a sincere smile. “Hello Timothy Turner. How has your summer holidays been?”

“Boring!” Timothy rolls his eyes, as he begins to walk next to Shelagh. “Dad has been busy with his patients but we have the fête coming up in a fortnight.”

The mention of his father has her heart pounding an erratic beat against her sternum. The two weeks she has kept her distance from Patrick has been hard on her morale, yet with the end of her debt coming closer and closer, she is ecstatic to see the end near. _Sixty-four pounds_. “I heard about it from the young boys that are in your cub pack right down the hall from me. You’ll be doing ‘Robin Hood’.”

“I’m playing Maid Marian.” He scrunches his nose in disgust and rolls his eyes. “I’m going to die from embarrassment. All of my friends are already making fun of me.”

“Hmm,” she stops at a little side booth to look at the tomatoes, “I would think it to be an honor. Your mother’s name was Mariann, correct?”

“That’s what dad said,” he mutters under his breath. Silence infiltrates their small corner of the market, the sound of his friends slowly becoming softer with the distance they put between them. “Did you and dad get into a fight?”

His question comes as a surprise, however, in a way she should have expected it. “Yes and no.” She nearly laughs out loud when she sees his brow furrows in confusion. _Like father, like son._ “Yes, we had a little row with each other, however we agreed that, for the moment, it’s best to spend some time apart.”

He fiddles with one of the tomatoes, “He was upset about it when I asked him about you. He said that it was his fault, but that sometimes grownups need time to themselves before getting into a relationship.” He dramatically rolls his eyes and huffs, “Whatever that means.”

“We both were at fault for the fight, but, your father is also very busy with work.” He shrugs his shoulder to her comment. “I would go easy on him; he has a lot on his plate.”

“I guess.” At her silence while she plucks some cherries into a paper bag, he turns to her and asks, “Are you coming to the fête?” At her hesitation, he puts on the puppy dog eyes, “Please, please say you will. There’ll be a handicraft store, something called a baby show, and of course ‘Robin Hood’.”

“I’m not sure, Timothy, I might have to work.” It’s a weak excuse and she knows it, but she promised herself that she wouldn’t go out of her way to see Patrick with her debt hanging over her head.

“If you are not working, then please come!” His boyish excitement lights even the darkest corner of her melancholy soul. “Besides, dad and I will be in the three-legged race. He’s not perfect, but he’ll get there.”

“I’ll… I’ll try and make it,” the tumbling words are out long before she can stop them. T _he shadows will have to be my friend if I do decide to go._

Quickly glancing around the crowded market, the young man throws his arms around her waist. “Good! I’ll see you then,” he shouts before he turns to run back down the street to his friends.

Watching Timothy racing through the people, Shelagh looks up and prays that her time with her job will be over soon.

 

* * *

 

“Daaad!” Timothy winces as he slows down his gate. “You should watch where you put your feet. Last time you stepped on my foot, it made us tumble over.” He stops altogether, “We will never win if you don’t watch your feet.”

Patrick tries his very best not to roll his eyes in front of his son. “It doesn’t help that I also have to look out for furniture.” With the rainy day, they had been practicing for the three-legged race across the parlor. All had been fun and dandy until his knee collided with the corner of the table.

“We have to keep practicing.” Timothy pulls Patrick back to their starting line.

“Out of all the games you sign me up for, the three-legged race is not one of my successful games.”

“It was either this or the baby show,” Timothy deadpans.

“You would have won first prize on cheek alone,” Patrick quips back.

“Dad! I told Ms. Shelagh that we were in the three-legged race.”

At the mention of her name, his chest inflates with brightness and joy. “Ms. Shelagh? What do you mean?”

“Oh.” Timothy gives his dad a shy smile. “I forgot to tell you that I saw her a few days ago in the market and told her about the fête. She said that she might have to work, but said that she would try to make it.” After a quite moment, he quickly adds, “She said the both of you were to blame for the fight and that she agreed that you should spend time apart.”

“Timothy!” Embarrassment stings his cheeks at the thought of his son divulging something he had wanted to keep private. In fact, the only reason he had said anything to begin with was so that Timothy would stop asking questions as to Shelagh’s disappearance.

“It’s the truth,” the young boy exclaims, “and she agreed with you.” He readjusts his belt, the latest tumble pulling on his shorts. “Now all we have to do is to win the three-legged race to show her how manly we are and she will forgive you.”

“I wish it were that simple, son.” In fact, he knew he was pushing it with the flowers he had sent, but he wanted to at least show her how much she still means to him. It hurt when she did not respond, his wondering mind during a sleepless night telling him that she has already made her choice about their relationship together. _I’m sure Bernard can give her an English Rose Garden if she asked_.

“I read it in a men’s magazine.”

The edge of desperation in his son’s voice catapults his heart into his throat. “I know you miss her.”

“It’s not just that. She helped to make you happy again after mummy died.” Timothy stares down and plays with a loose button on the bottom of his shirt. “Plus, she knows how to make pancakes. We just can’t give up on her!”

Patrick captures Timothy’s shoulder, “I’m not giving up, we are just giving each other some time. I’m sure patience was in that very same article.”

“I skipped over that part.” His cheeks flush a bright pink. “I just don’t want you to mess it up.”

“I will do my best to make sure that it won’t come to this again.” _If she finishes her debt and she still wants to see me, then maybe we can start this relationship over again._ The little bit of darkness that has resided in his soul since seeing her with Bernard tilts its sharp dagger of dissension further in his heart. _Or maybe this is her way of letting me down, of telling me that she never wants to see me again._

“Okay.” Timothy gives his dad a shy smile. “Can you also promise not to embarrass me in front of my friends.”

“Oy! With all the practicing we have been doing, we better win.”

 

* * *

 

“Doctor, TB has never been choosy,” Sister Julienne clasps her hands on the desk, “at least, not in this area.”

“But I’m getting to them too late,” Patrick leans forward in his chair. “We can treat them if we can diagnose them earlier.”

“You are talking about the mass x-ray program?”

“There’s a council meeting tomorrow morning. I plan on going to convince them that it is urgent we have it now.”

“Perhaps, Doctor Turner,” she neatly rearranges the pen from her newspaper to the top of her desk, “that you will not only attract more bears with honey, but also to help pacify them.”

Patrick gives her a bright smile. “That’s why I would like for you to go with me!”

“Oh, I see,” Sister Julienne blushes a bright pink.

He and his predecessor before him had used the strategy of having the nuns on hand to help win cases numerous times. With the health of the community on the line, they had always been enthusiastic with their support.

“And your friend who paid you a visit a few months ago?” Patrick can feel both his smile and the color draining from his face. “I believe he is still on the National Health Council. Will he be there?”

“As far as I know, he was more involved in the construction stage, rather than the logistics.” He swallows past the knot of shame lodged in his throat. “I’m sorry that you had to see that.”

“It was a long time ago, Doctor, and, quite frankly, what’s already been done is done.”

He is grateful to see no hint of malice or humiliation in her eyes, however, her obvious hesitation turns his stomach into knots. “Thank you for looking past my abhorrent behavior.”

“I just hope the same friend you were in an altercation with is also not the same man casting the deciding vote.” She folds her hands along her desk. “Despite your polite decorum with Nonnatus House and the patients your come across, I feel as if you will quickly reach your tolerance level with him.”

“Sister, I assure you, with something that is as important as the x-ray van needed in our community, I will never allow such childish behavior to ruin our chance to help diagnose TB for our patients.”

“I’m afraid he knows exactly how to push your buttons.”

He glances down, his eyes ticking back and forth, unsure of how he can convince her. “Sister,” he sighs, “I give you my word that I will be at my very best behavior.”

After five beats of his heart against his chest, she gives him a small smile and nods, “I’m sure with your dedication to the people of Poplar, we will be able to acquire the x-ray van within the time table with which we need it.”

He visibly sighs in relief, “Thank you, Sister, for both your help and your faith in me as you GP.”

“Help is always given to those who need it, Doctor.” Her genuine smile helps to ease the knots in his stomach. “As for our faith in you, it would take a lot more than you defending the honor of a friend to taint our vision. Now, if I may indulge a few more minutes of your time,” she passes him a blank paper and a pen, “could you please write down the list of items needed for the clinic that the money made from the fête can help with.”

He takes the pen in hand, “Of course, however, I would also like for you and the other nurses to contribute as well.”

 

* * *

 

“Doctor, I have to say, you were quite magnificent,” Sister Julienne smiles brightly as they walk through the town hall together.

“Honestly, I couldn’t have done it without your help, Sister. Thank you again for accompanying me.”  He smiles back as he opens the door for her. “Now hopefully they will heed my advice and your warnings. Tuberculosis has been spreading far too much and with the van, we have the chance to stop it.”  

“The van was always going to go to Poplar first,” a voice behind them sneers. “You’ve accomplished nothing other than raising the time table up by a month or so.”

Patrick’s step falters, yet, with Sister Julienne close by him, he quietly murmurs, “Every little second counts.”

James kicks off from the wall, flicking his cigarette to the ground and extinguishing it with the tip of his shoe. “The van will be in Poplar on Tuesday.”

Patrick can feel his blood boiling, yet it is Sister Julienne who loudly says, “Thank you for the information, sir. The doctor and I shall be on our way.”

With the help of the nun’s gentle persuasion, Patrick passes by James towards his car.

“You know,” James coyly calls out to the retreating figures, “I wonder if Bernadette still likes to take it from behind.”

Patrick grinds his teeth, the audacity of his words reverberating off of the cold, stone buildings. He was about to turn around and to give James a mouth full of his knuckles, however with Sister Julienne by his side, he decides to ignore him altogether.

“I know for certain that she enjoys being on her knees, being a former nun and all.” One beat ticks by. “I wonder if all nuns are like that or just her?”

Like a blinding light, cold rage sears through his veins, his blood pounding against his eardrums. Within a matter of seconds Patrick is turned around and has James pushed up against the wall by the tips of his toes. “Apologize.” He pulls him forward and slams him back into the brick. “Now!”

“Whoops. Pardon me.” The laughter shining in James’ eyes is enough for Patrick to beat him to a bloody pulp on site. “I meant to say ‘former nuns’.”

“You are a disgusting piece of filth.” Patrick’s fingers tighten around James’ lapels.

“Yet, you are the one who fell in love with a whore.” James wildly grins. “She might be disease free, however that doesn’t erase the amount of men she has had between her delightful little legs.”

Feeling his blood pressure climb to new heights, Patrick swings back his fist, intent on knocking every single one of James’ teeth out.

“Doctor Turner!” The feel of small hands wrapping around his arm causes him to loose all momentum. “We must leave if we are to get back in time for our duties.”

With his other fist still wrapped around James’ lapel, Patrick shoves him against the wall before letting go. With Sister Julienne’s persuasion yet again, he takes a step back.

“You are a fool, ol’ boy, forever thinking she will leave the money she makes for a man like you.”

The small hand around his arm tightens, the doubt festering in his soul widens to a gaping hole, exposing him, making him vulnerable. “Shut your bloody mouth,” he carelessly throws over his shoulder.

“Haven’t you learned by now, ol’ chap,” Patrick can hear the glee in James’ voice, “that the man who pays the highest amount will always win.”

If it weren't for the nun holding him up, he would have been down on his knees, James' words kicking him right in the mouth.

"She sells herself to the highest bidder, Patrick, and you were too stupid to see it coming."

“Doctor Turner, please,” Sister Julienne voice cuts through the fury currently pounding against his chest.

_You made a promise to Sister Julienne here. Back off before you break it into tiny pieces._ “Sod off, you bastard.”

“At least I’m not the bastard who foolishly fell in love with a whore,” James taunts after him.

Patrick takes a deep breath to keep himself rooted to the ground, “At least I don’t have to pay to have someone love me back.”

His laughter rings out, reverberating against the stone buildings. “And you think a whore who has had several men, hundreds even, ejaculate into her body will love you for you? The war made you far more delusional than I thought.” He straightens his jacket, “You have your precious van, Doctor Turner. It’s time you returned back to la-la land.” He turns back towards the buildings and walks away.

Clenching his fists, Patrick deeply breathes in and out of his nose.

“Doctor Turner?” Sister Julienne timidly reaches out to his shoulder but then changes her mind at the last minute. “Doctor Turner, I think it’s best that we leave.”

Taking in a deep breath, Patrick swallows past the anger still sizzling under in his finger tips and murmurs, “Very well.” In silence they walk towards his car. Opening the door for the Sister, he gently captures her elbow, “I’m sorry for what you heard and I’m sorry for losing my temper.”

“It is not you who should apologize,” she gently murmurs between them. “He had said vile and ruthless things just for the purpose of taunting you and smearing your good character. I was happy to see that you kept a cool head under such fire. Suffice to say, Doctor Turner, his judgement will come in good time.” She gives him an encouraging smile, “And despite what he claims, love will always win.”

“Sometime,” he sighs, the silence between him and Shelagh within the past month deafening, “sometimes I find myself doubting my feelings for her.”

She pats his hand, “Then, I shall pray that through this darkness of doubt, that you will find a light bright enough to help find your way.”

Giving her a tight smile as he helps her into her seat, he then marches over to the drivers side and settles into his seat.

 

* * *

 

“Scotch on the rocks,” Patrick murmurs to the bartender.

“Put it on my tab, Jerry,” Sharon saddles in the chair next to him. “It’s been a few weeks since I have seen you, Patrick.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“And your friend?”

“Still doing her job.”

“Have you seen her at all?”

“No.”

“Seems as if you are feeling rather lonely tonight,” she shows off her bright smile as he downs his drink in one gulp.

He signals the bartender for another one, “And if I am?”

“You’ve come to the right place,” she demurely sips from her first drink with one hand as her other glides along the top of his thigh.

 

* * *

 

“Shall we make this a regular thing, Patrick?”

Shame coats his throat, burning far more than the alcohol it had taken him to this point. “I… I don’t think so.” He zips up his pants, his belt buckle clattering loudly in the small room above the pub.

“Hmm,” Sharon smirks, smothering her dress over her thighs, “here’s my card. If you should ever want to move this to a more comfortable location, call and we can set something up.” She tips her card into his pocket.

“I shouldn’t have done this to begin with,” his heart beating wildly in his chest, the repercussions of his actions now showing what a cowardly fool he has been. The alcohol giving him the courage to follow through now failing him, visions of Shelagh’s smile fluttering through his mind instead of the doubt that drove him to this point. He remembered that James’ words earlier that day had infuriated him, yet, at the same time, igniting a mountain of doubt he could not escape.

“I would like to believe you, Patrick,” she gently pats his shoulder, “however, you had brought your own rubber. You knew what you wanted the moment you sat down at the bar.”

His scotch threatens to come up, her words piecing the gaping whole still wedged in his heart. “She will never forgive me.”

“No, but you can forget her,” she gives him a kiss on the cheek and a coy wink, “starting with her name.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, Shelagh’s name sticking to his tongue like glue, it had been the name he called out when he had hit his peak. Embarrassment in all its ugly forms crystallizes along his veins, his hand reaching inside his pocket for the bills needed to pay her.

She takes it without hesitation and stuffs it in her purse. “Call me next time you want to forget, ehh?”

Following after her, she shows him the side entrance out into the alley. With one last peck to his cheek, she closes the door on him.

Collapsing against the wall, he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, feeling every last ounce of hope draining from his body at the idea of him and Shelagh being able to be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is always a rainbow at the end of a storm...


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this seems like a short chapter, however, I'm upping this mammoth of a story up to 20 chapters now. 
> 
> Thank you again, Tangledupinmist, for reading this through!

Staring into the mirror, Shelagh fidgets with her green scarf yet again. Within the past twenty-four hours, she had wrestled with herself back and forth, to and fro on if she should go to the fête or not.

Even in the morning, she had laid about in bed, content to relax the day away before her appointments in the evening; Roger for a quick drink and a quicker shag, Wallace for a nice dinner and a long soak in the tub – his favorite position being her riding on top of him – with the night ending in the form of Dean coming in her mouth.

She hates it. Hates it all. _But I’m so close to the end. Twenty-seven pounds after the night._

Rearranging the scarf yet again, Shelagh sighs as she pulls the blasted thing off. Patrick’s sweet face swims merrily in her mind and she allows it. With no one around to question her, she asks for the millionth time if there is still a Patrick to return to after her debt is down to zero.

_I hurt him, rather badly. Would he even want to still be with me? He sent that note, but it was so long ago. Are his words still sincere or are they now written in dust on the brink of being blown away?_

Taking a deep breath, Shelagh twirls the scarf around her neck. “This is for Timothy,” she sternly tells herself. _Yet, wouldn’t it be fantastic if I saw Patrick? To touch him, even with just one finger, to tell him that I am close to the end, to show him that I prize this scarf more than any other object I possess._

“But I shouldn’t!” She rakes her eyes down the slopes of her body, far more skinnier than the last she saw him. She had lost some weight as her silent depression raged in her soul. “Go. See Timothy and no one else. Not until you are down to zero.”

—Ring,Ring—

Shelagh races to the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Liz.” Shelagh rolls her eyes, the sound of Liz’s falsely cheerful voice making her teeth grind. “I have a new job for you to add to your schedule on Tuesday. He’s a top gent that I am sure you will enjoy.”

Shelagh opens her planner, excitement running through her veins. This top gent, meaning he’s a high payer, will bring her to the end of her debt possibly a lot sooner than she had anticipated. “Who is he?”

She hesitates, the sound of the white noise crackling between them makes Shelagh nervous. “Bernard.”

“No,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shakes the dread now residing in her throat. “He’s in Paris. Last we had met, he told me that he was in the midst of finding another girlfriend.”

“Yes, well, he’s back in town and he wants to see you.” After two heartbeats, she adds, “He does sound rather hopeful.”

Her stomach knots itself over and over again. “I can’t do it, Liz. While we left on good terms,” her tongue sticks like sandpaper to the roof of her mouth, “I was content on leaving our relationship behind.”

The silence cracks like a sharp whip, humming as if there is something dangerous on the horizon. “I heard quite the opposite and that this, perhaps, has something to do with that doctor that is keen with you.”

Ice runs through Shelagh’s veins. _She knows. She’s pretending to be flippant about it, but she knows._ “This has nothing to do with him,” her voice is strong, despite her trepidation breaking like waves in her belly. “I haven’t seen him in a long while.”

It’s faint, but Shelagh can hear Liz holding back her laughter in her throat, knowing that she is not telling the full truth. “Well, you have an option, Shelagh. You can either take Bernard on as a client for the foreseeable future or I can add more money to your debt.”

_Twenty-seven pounds is all that is left. Finish it and be done with this cursed job._ “Very well,” she forces herself to say, “I will meet with him.”

“See, now, was that so hard to do?” Liz’s sing-song voice makes Shelagh want to throw the phone against the wall. Instead she squeezes the hard plastic, wishing with all her might that it will disintegrate. “He’s got you for the whole night, love. You are to meet him at the usual hotel, room 316, at 9 o’clock sharp.”

Shelagh swallows down the contrite words she would rather say. “Yes, ma’am.” And with nothing else to add, she hangs up the phone. After a moment of silence that pounds against her eardrums, she slams her fist on the wall.

“Fuck!” She can barely stand on her own two feet, the help of her knuckles catching the table is the only thing holding her up. _I have to tell him. I have to tell Patrick and… and it will destroy him._

For a small moment, blink and it’s gone, she thinks of not telling him. _It would be rather easy since it has been six weeks since I had last seen him. But look where that got me when I met up with Bernard last time. If there is a relationship that we can salvage and Patrick finds out that I had met with Bernard, he would never trust me again._

Taking a deep breath, she lifts herself up to her full height, her day set on what she has to do. Gathering her purse, she walks out of her apartment.

 

* * *

 

Shuffling through the rather empty streets back to the fête, Patrick stifles the yawn that is threatening to come out. With the resurgence of TB cases in full swing, plus the summer holidays for the school age students, he has been busier now more than ever.

But he doesn’t mind whatsoever. He will do anything to stay out of the clutches of the dark, yet mesmerizing hole he had found himself in just a week ago when he had followed Sharon up those stairs.

Despite the heat radiating off of the pavement, Patrick shivers.

Switching his case over to his other hand, he shoves his fist into his pocket, the sharp corner of her calling card poking his knuckle. He had meant to rip it to shreds, discard it with as much fury that fired through his chest at his idiocy, but every time, he stopped himself.

It now serves as his reminder that he is not perfect and that the world is not made of roses. He hit bottom that night, far worse than than the night of Marianne’s funeral when he desired nothing but to drown himself in the bottle. _I see spectacular just at the end of this tunnel, but I have to work for it, earn it, and keep it whether Shelagh is by my side or not._

Pulling his hand out, he reaches into his breast pocket for a cigarette, the entrance to the fête within a few steps. While he has missed Shelagh during their small hiatus, he finds that, looking back, it was needed. He realized that, while they had many important conversations together, they didn’t talk about what was essentially needed. Her past is a still a mystery to him while he had barely grazed the surface with his marriage to Marianne. _Not to mention, my night with Sharon._

A rush of nicotine coats his tongue as he exhales the smoke through his nose. _Long ago, she had told me, encouraged me even, to find another woman to be with, but that was before she had told me that she loved me._ _That was before the silence, the doubt that angrily festered._

He runs his thumb nail along the filter, his mind filling itself with doubt. _What if she does prefer to stay with her job? Or to move to Paris?_

_No!_ His subconscious kicks him in the rear. _Fight for her! No more doubts. Go to find her. Talk to her. It’s time to stop wallowing in self pity and cowardice._

Stubbing out his cigarette against the wall, he moseys up to the entrance, the brightly colored balloons and handmade signs enticing him to come in. While he had yet to see her there before or during the beginning of ‘Robin Hood’, he admits that he didn’t look hard enough. _I kept my head down, certain that anybody could see my past transgressions written clearly on my forehead._

_But no more! If there is one thing you learn early on in this job is that life is too short._ His heart sinks into the pit of his belly. _Something I had taken for granted when Marianne was alive._ He straightens his back, filling her lungs with confidence. _Something I will not let happen with She_ —

—BANG—

The sound startles Patrick. _A starters pistol. The race. Timothy!_

“Oh no!” Running in past the late comers and the early leavers, he threads through the crowd to look for Timothy. He was supposed to have made it back in time for the three-legged race, but time had quite literally escaped him. _No, no, no, no, no_!

Then he sees him and his heart nearly stops. _It’s her! I can’t—_

Racing now to catch up, he cheers through the crowd, the finish line coming up too quickly, “Come on, Timothy!”

They break through the crowd of other children and fall into the ribbon, claiming first place.

Rushing up, Patrick can see that Timothy is alright by the toothy grin and the mocking catcalls to his mates, yet he can see Shelagh feeling around the ground for her glasses. _She’s wearing it!_ He stares at her green scarf, mesmerized by its color against her porcelain skin.

Immediately releasing the tie that binds their legs when he sees her struggling, he finds her glasses a good distance away from her probing hands. “Here you go,” he gives them to her and helps her stand.

Slowly putting her glasses back on, she looks up to him with the lines of her smile reaching her sapphire eyes. He falls in love with her all over again. “Thank you, Doctor,” she wipes her hands, but he can see her wince in pain. Glancing down, he sees a deep cut along her palm, already growing red and angry from the cement intruding into her skin.

“I can help you,” he reaches out to touch the back of her hand.

She pulls away from him, her touch just out of reach from his. “There’s no need to amputate,” she looks around, “I’m sure there’s a sink around here somewhere.” With one last timid smile, she turns away from him and disappears into the Parrish Hall.

 

* * *

 

The water, cool and refreshing, feels good running over her wound. _Yet, the water won’t help with the wound I am about to widen._

Although she had resided in coming to the fête in the hopes of finally talking with Patrick, her nerves got the better of her, encouraging her to hide within the shadows of the crowds and buildings. In the middle of Timothy’s performance, from the perfect angle behind him, she had seen him leave with a nurse, presumably to see to a patient.

When Timothy had come to her, angry tears at his father’s need to be the Doctor during the three-legged race, she knew she had to step up. There was no thinking involved, yet, at the same time, she had no idea that Patrick would come in at the last minute.

And now, after seeing the dimples she has fallen in love with and hearing the voice that soothes her wretched soul, she wants nothing more than to run out to him to ask him to take her away from from what is waiting for her.

_Oh, Bernard..._

“Would you like me to take a look at that?”

A voice, his voice, jars her from her silent musings. She turns to look at him, the temptation at having him close by too irresistible to ignore. “Sure,” she holds out her hand from under the sink, the desire to be touched by his gentle hands coiling along the pit of her belly.

His touch – _oh, his lovely touch_ – soothes her soul, stitching the gaping wound that has been rotting for the past month and a half. His thumb runs along her palm, his eyes never wavering from the tiny scratches littering the heel of her hand. Then, as if the moment couldn’t be more perfect, he kisses her in the center of her palm as if she were Juliet and he were Romeo when they had met on the balcony.

He looks to her with those hazel eyes, the same ones she had fallen deeply in love with, and it’s as if all the neurons in her brain aligned — crisscrossing, connecting, and lighting the darkened path she had been walking along towards her goal. Everything she is expected to do falls to the side, crumbling into nothingness down by her feet. Timidly, her fingers reach out, barely grazing the edge of his jaw.

He melts into her palm, kissing her wound as if the act of love alone will fix all other maladies plaguing both of their souls. Capturing her waist, he pulls her towards him, his hand sliding to the small of her back, his fingers wide, comforting, like little centurions at the ready to protect her from anything willing to hurt her heart. “I love you.”

Their foreheads kiss, “I am very much in love with you.”

“There are so many things that we need to talk about, but just at this moment, I want to hold you, and touch you, and kiss you, and love you the way I have been wanting to since I walked out on you.” He draws the tip of his nose along hers, lazily kissing her lips as if they both have all the time in the world.

For the first time in as many weeks, the mountains that have weighed heavily upon her shoulders dissolves into nothingness. After years of heartbreak and the demand of her body as nothing more than a price tag, she has finally found her home. Completeness. Not in the form of a man, but in the delicate feature of his love, the light he brings to her soul. _I have found the one whom my soul loves._

He gently pulls her hand down to his chest, the cadence of his heart growing in sync with her own. “The moment you debt is complete, promise that you will come to me.” His kisses grow with his passion. “Please.”

“I am nearing the end...,” his lips takes hers before she can say who with.

“Come to me,” he murmurs against the corner of her mouth. Silence wedges between them, his touch becoming less confident. “Unless, what I am feeling is wrong…”

“It is not, my god, what you are feeling is so incredibly right.”

Leaning out of their embrace, their hands falling between them as he takes a step back, his shallow breaths falling in time with the chaotic beat of her heart. “What I said that night was stupid and selfish. The way I have acted since has been cowardly.”

She squeezes his fingers, “Patrick—”

“I had sex with a woman not too long ago.” He makes a move to let go, but she holds on tighter. “I… I paid for her.”

His statement hangs between them as if it is a live wire on the cusp of explosion. “Patrick, I had encouraged you to—”

“I was so angry and confused,” he takes a deep breath, “I did it more out of spite for the silence that had grown between us.” Anguish dips along the curve of his brow, his fingers still trying to slip out from her grasp.

“I love you,” he stops all movement. “When my debt is finished, I would like for us to start over.”

“You’re getting closer to zero, I imagine.”

_I have to tell him._ “If everything falls in place, early Wednesday morning is when I will tell Liz that I'm finished.”

“Then come to me and we can start all over again.” His confidence returns in the form of his fingers gently squeezing her knuckles.

_Tell him._ “Bernard will be my last client.”

For a fraction of a second, his bright eyes cloud over, looking every which way except at her. The beat of her heart reaches the count of thirty-three, when he murmurs, “You… you look lovely in this scarf.” She holds her breath, his lips slightly parted as if he wants to add more. “I’m done doubting myself, Shelagh. When it comes to this relationship, we both fucked up. No more. I want you and I want all of you.”

“I will come to you.”

He finally looks to her, his eyes ticking side to side. “Even if there is a little, speckle of desire for Paris—”

“Only if I am with you.”

His face brightens to that of the days first rays of light on the horizon. “Then I will see you Wednesday morning, no matter the time.”

“And not a moment before?” She had meant to say it as a statement, yet I came out more as a question, desperate for him to soothe her desire for his touch.

“As much as I have missed you and long to hold you, I can’t until I know there will be no one else.”

That had been her reason for keeping him at arms length, “I understand.”

He lifts her palm, his lips cool against the heel of her hand. “Let me get you a bandaid.” He turns towards a cupboard and opens it, shuffling items to the side.

She bites down on her bottom lip, “I never imagined falling in love with you, Patrick Turner.” 

He pulls out the sought after bandage, wrinkled in its package from it shoved position. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Shelagh Mannion.” He place the adhesive bandage on her palm and seals it with another kiss.

She runs her thumb along his cheek, finding the touch of his skin hypnotizing. “Before we walk out these doors as nothing more than friends, I want to dance with you.”

Wrapping his fingers around her hand, he effortlessly pulls her into his embrace, the song playing beyond their small world filling her with such hope that their love will no longer be kept a secret come Wednesday morning.


	16. Chapter 16

“Shelagh, I’m so sorry to ask this,” Flora struggles to keep the two rambunctious boys in her arms, “but could you take Marla and Nadine for their x-rays today? Only, both boys are running a temperature and I don’t want to take them out just yet.”

Shelagh looks at her neighbor, the lovely woman with her wonderful children that she had offered to watch if they had needed someone, looks as if she is struggling. She would have taken them, no questions asked, yet, she knows, without a doubt, that Patrick will be there.

 _I can’t see him, not until precisely five oh one in the morning_. She bites down on her bottom lip. _But what is the harm? He might not be in the van. He might be checking on patients already showing signs of active disease. He might be in the clinic, Tuesday’s are specifically for the pre and post natal check ups._

Little Simon’s sneeze from Flora’s arms brings Shelagh out of her thoughts. The desperation and plea in her eyes melts Shelagh’s heart and has her nodding, “Alright then.”

“But, mummy, what happens if the big machine hurts us,” Nadine squeaks as she looks up to her mother.

“The big machine won’t hurt you,” Shelagh kneels down onto her knees, “it is there just to see if your insides are up to parr.” She tickles her belly and the little girl dissolved into a fit of giggles. “What time is it at?”

“It started a half hour ago,” Flora balances both boys onto her hips, “thank you again for doing this. There’ll be a steak and kidney pie with your name on it when you get back.”

“Mmm, my favorite,” Shelagh licks her lips.

“It should be,” Flora kisses the girls on their foreheads, “you have been looking a little peckish the past few weeks. If I didn’t know better, I would say that this posh job that keeps you busy is starving you.”

 _Not the job_ , Shelagh smiles as best as she can, _just the side effects._ “I adore your pies and I look forward to it when we get back.” Grabbing both hands of the girls, the three of them walk out the door.

 

* * *

 

“Now, I assure you Sister Monica Joan,” Patrick holds out his hands in peace, “this will not hurt one bit.”

Surprised at the nun’s skill at darting around people at her age, Patrick, with the help of both Fred and Sister Evangelina, is finally able to get her onto the van’s steps.

“The gamma rays are alight in this contraption.” She captures the side of the door to keep them from bringing her in. “The skies will darken as the devil’s accent onto our mortal land will be heralded with the floods of darkness and despair.” Patrick barely misses her flailing arms as he blocks her path out the door.

“Sister Monica Joan, I am here with you and I can assure you that there is not a dark cloud in the sky.” Fred captures one of her arms and holds it between his two hands.

“Your scaring the children,” Sister Evangelina mutters through gritted teeth. “Just sit and be still for five seconds.”

With both the shared effort between Fred and Sister Evangelina, they coax her to sit down in the chair. Slamming her eyes shut, the older woman yells out, “May God have mercy on the souls who set forth the gamma rays onto our beautiful earth and blemish it for all of eternity.”

“You’re finished,” laments Sister Evangelina.

Blinking open her eyes, Sister Monica Joan furrows her brow in consternation, “What?”

Patrick steps up to her with a bright smile lining his cheeks, “It’s done. We have your x-ray, Sister.”

“Oh.” Standing up on her own accord, Sister Monica Joan turns to Dr. McGuinness and says with high authority, “I hope for your sake, young man, that the gamma rays have not yet begun to affect your mind.” And without another single word, she exits out of the van.

“Lord give me strength,” Sister Evangelina rolls her eyes as she sits down into the chair.

After she stands, Fred takes his place next.

With all the cards sorted and filled out, Sister Evangelina yells out, “Next.”

Pulling out the pictures and arranging them in the same order as the name cards, Patrick hears behind him the same Scottish lilt that keeps him up at nights, “The girls are first, however, I think Sister Monica Joan scared them a wee bit.”

He twirls around, her voice piercing his chest, little butterfly wings fluttering in his belly.

She avoids eye contact with him, choosing instead to stare at a stunned Sister Evangelina. “Do you mind if I go first, just to show them that it’s not too scary?”

Sister Evangelina volleys between the doctor and the woman standing in front of her before nodding, “Yes, please, don’t let Dame Sybil Thorndike stop them from getting their x-ray.”

Shelagh hands her the cards and makes her way over towards the chair. “Good afternoon, Doctor Turner,” she barely passes by him. Once her x-ray is completed, she motions for the girls to come join her. “See, not as scary as you think.” Once each of the girls have taken their turn, she takes both of their hands and murmurs a soft ‘goodbye’ as they walk out the door.

All in all, the total time spent in the van had been less than a minute, yet, for Patrick, it had felt like a lifetime. Following her with his eyes, he sighs despairingly when the door closes, the subtle scent of her perfume the only remnants of her time within such a close proximity.

“Well?”

Patrick looks up to Sister Evangelina’s exasperated stare, “Well, what?”

“Go after her,” she exclaims. When he starts to reason why he shouldn’t, she holds up her hand and bossily grunts, “The crowd has died down and I think you could use a break, Doctor. Now leave, before I throw you out.”

“If you won’t go,” Doctor McGuinness speaks up in his thick accent, “then I certainly will.”

Opening the door, Patrick spots Shelagh and the Cavill girls walking up to the sweets table for the little ones. Jumping down the stairs in one leap, he makes his way over within a few long strides. “Hello.” He curses himself. _There are far better ways to greet her, than in impersonal, two-syllable word_. “Good afternoon, Ms. Mannion.”

“Good afternoon, Doctor Turner.” She doesn’t look at him, not one single peek. “Now girls, only one biscuit for each of you and we will be on our way.”

“I’m glad you made it and I’m happy to see the Cavill girls here with you.” He knows that he is attracting a few stares from the women around him, but he tries to pay them no mind. “How is Flora and the boys?”

She glances over her shoulder, “Flora is doing well and the boys still have a nasty cough.”

A tiny sting of anger gets his heart pumping, “I had told her to bring them so that we can get them x-rayed.”

“She had said that they were still running fevers and didn’t want to risk taking them out.” Once the girls return to her with their biscuits in hand, Shelagh mutters, “Have a good evening, Doctor.”

They make it down past the alley, damn near to his car, when he spurs himself into action once again. Quickly catching up to her with his long strides, he calls out her name. She stops and turns toward him, “Yes, Doctor Turner?”

“Are we… is today…your, umm, well, your last day?” He once again curses himself for the way he sounds.

She bites down on her bottom lip, first glancing down at the two young girls flanking her sides and then over his shoulder to see – to his annoyance – a group of nosy women staring at them. “It is,” she finally says much to his relief, “and my promise to you still stands.”

“If there should be a moment, or even a tiny sliver that you would prefer—”

“There will not be any of that,” she gives him a soft smile, the sun finally breaking through the clouds to shine brightly in her sapphire eyes.

His heart beats a whimsical pattern against his chest. “Then I shall see you after your appointment?” The girls next to her begin to giggle in their palms, but both adults ignore it. 

Her smile brightens, “I think that will be lovely.” The girls giggle again, yet, this time, it doesn’t escape Shelagh’s attention. “I have to be going now, Doctor Turner.” With one more smile, she turns to walk down the alley.

“Good night,” he lifts his hand and awkwardly waves. One of the girls glances over her shoulder and enthusiastically waves back.

 

* * *

 

“How did it go?” Flora looks up when the girls go running in.

“As well as can be expected,” Shelagh murmurs back, a small smile hanging on for dear life, the time between now and her date with James getting closer and closer to zero. “Doctor Turner was rather upset that you didn’t come with the boys.”

She rolls her eyes as one of the boys snuggles under her chin, “He’s sometimes too invested, dear man that he is.” She gives Shelagh a sly grin, “However, I have seen how sweet he is with you. I’m sure he enjoyed the visit.”

Shelagh blushes despite her stomach turning over and over into knots. “He has been rather kind.”

Flora laughs knowingly under her breath, “By the way that man looks at you, he could have the Queen of Sheba walk by and he would not take his eyes off of you.” If she weren’t so nervous, she would have denied it, the sake of Patrick’s reputation still in contention with someone that is still unknown within this community. “Are you sure you’re okay, Shelagh? You’re looking rather pale,” Flora walks over with the promised pie and feels her forehead, “you are quite clammy.”

“I’ll work through it.” She gives the concerned woman in front of her a more convincing smile. “I have to get going though. Thank you for the pie.”

“Thank you for taking the girls. I hope they weren’t much bother.”

Shelagh shakes her head, “Never. Have a good evening.” She shuts the door as they wave their goodbyes. Slipping into her own apartment, she gets to work on preparing herself for the evening, making sure to keep her hands busy at all times.

Anticipation sits heavily in her belly, making her feel nauseous. The steam from her bath surrounds her, encapsulates her body, the feeling of being trapped, of drowning, pound against her chest. She had felt this way ever since she had decided to keep her distance from Patrick.

She hated every moment she was without him, but looking back, she had missed the telltale signs of his doubt in himself, the jealousy that would drive any man mad. _I should have waited until all of the debt was paid, but his smile was too hypnotizing, love and kindness oozing out of every single one of his pores. Not to mention Timothy…_

Grabbing her washcloth, she pours her soap on to it, working it into a lather.

Now with her debt over after tonight, she wonders if their relationship is still as salvageable as they both hope it to be. His words that horrible night, the look he gave her when he thrusted money in her face, sparked a fire of doubt. _Will he be able to move past my history?_

The love he still has for her is clearly still written upon his handsome features, it can be felt through the tips of his fingers, heard through the warmth of his voice. _But is it enough?_

Their relationship, born from silence and reproach, became too physical too fast and died a painful death from the same silence from which it started. There were many things that they should have talked about; her history, his wife, where they see themselves, to just name a few.

 _Patience and trust and honesty;_ _that’s where we need to begin. If it is meant to be, then everything else will fall into place._

Stepping out of the tub after drying off, she bypasses her robe and walks out into her bedroom where she stares at her body in front of the mirror. Contemplation, fear, anxiety mars her pretty face as her skin puckers against the cool air. “You can do this,” she mumbles to herself. “One more night and you’ll be free.”

 _Possibly alone_ , her mind silently adds, _but free._

Shaking her head, she dresses and fixes up her hair and make-up. Sneaking in a few bites of her pie that she had gotten from Flora, she is just about to head out of the door when her telephone rings.

Waiting until the second ring, she picks it up, “Hello.”

“I love you.”

Shelagh grips the receiver as she leans against the wall. “Patrick.”

“I do. Everything that we have gone through this past month, I was in agony.” He stops, his breathing is the only passage of time she can hear. “I know you have told me otherwise, however, if there is even one ounce of doubt all I ask is for you to call me and to tell me.”

“And will you still hold onto this doubt long after we embrace each other?” She sighs, the silence between them ringing loudly. “I’m sorry.”

“There is no reason for you to be sorry, especially when you are right.”

“It’s because of this stupid job and debt that you are even questioning yourself.” She stares up towards the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes. “We have so much to discuss, Patrick.”

“And we will,” he breaths, “tonight, when you are here, we will begin again.”

Her heart aches to be with him now, the gentle stroke of clock striking the hour telling her she to be somewhere else, in another man’s arms. “I have to go.”

“I don’t care of the time. Come over after you are finished with him.”

“I will, Patrick.”

“I do love you Shelagh, I really do. Please,” he sighs, “please be careful tonight.”

“I… I… I love you too, Patrick.” And before either of them is given the chance to changes their minds, she hangs up the phone. With the promise of a spark acting as her light at the end of a long tunnel, she gathers her coat and walks out of her flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had the merriest of holidays and the best time with the ones you love! 
> 
> I'm sorry, it's taken a bit longer to get this out, I was hoping to get this chapter out by Christmas, but fate in the form of a sick child and husband had taken me away, not to mention the holidays in general is a crazy time. 
> 
> However, I hate to say that the next few chapters are either partially written or not written at all, but it will get done!!! 
> 
> You guys who read this story are simply amazing!!! Thank you so much for your support! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's Eve Eve!!! Yay, a new chapter and it is being published far earlier than I had expected! 
> 
> So, I know, this story comes with a rating of "E", however, there is a lot of kink in this chapter (far more kinkier than I have seen in other stories in this fandom featuring Shelagh and Patrick). This includes, but is not limited to dominance, anal, and the use of an anal plug. If this is not your thing, I totally get it, however, you are still able to read the chapter by glossing over those parts.

“Hello Bernadette,” Bernard opens the door, allowing her to walk in with the flick of his wrist.

“Hello Bernard,” she gives him a small smile, her belly rolling in waves of nerves. “It’s been a while since I have seen you last.”

He gives her a shy smile, shrugging his shoulders, “I know it was supposed to our last time together, but when this opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t resist.” He gently kisses her temple after he helps her with her coat. “You look gorgeous, as always.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs over her shoulder as she sashays to the bed.

He drops the coat into one of the chairs, “Tonight, my dear Bernadette, I will be the master.” His palms cup her hips, the length of his fingers sitting low on her waist while his thumb taps against her in an unrhythmic beat. “Do you understand,” his warm breath sends shivers along her spine.

_He wants to be in control tonight_ , her mind buzzes. “Yes, sir.”

His fingers trail up along her body, the scissoring teeth of her zipper filling the room, her skin puckers when the cool air caresses her as her dress falls to the ground around her ankles. “My, my, you certainly dressed for the occasion,” his finger trails along her spine, her black negligee accentuating every blessed curve of her body. “Take off your panties,” he murmurs along her neck, his warm breath sticky with desire, “and kneel down on the bed.”

Reaching under her negligee, with a slight wiggle of her hips, her panties fall and join her dress. Stepping up to the bed, she settles down just beyond the edge.

“Get on all fours,” he remains all the way across the room as she follows his orders. “Tonight, I am assuming is your last night in this profession?”

She swallows hard, unsure of how to answer his inquiry.

“I know about the life you want to lead outside, about the man you wish to share that life with.” She looks up, surprise causing her heart to hammer against her ribcage. “So, it is only fitting that I shall be your last client.” She can hear him slowly stalk up behind her, “I will be your master for this evening and, if by the end, you shall want to be my servant past our allotted time, then we can make arrangements for you in Paris.”

Leaning down onto her elbows, she stares down at the blanket underneath her hands as her mind brings forth a picture of a man near the seaside, his gentle smile reaching all the way up to his hazel eyes.

“First things first, Bernadette, I’m going to have the pleasure of reddening your perfect little ass,” he captures the globes of her ass, massaging them as he spreads her open. “If you break the rules, then I will have no choice but to punish you.”

 

* * *

 

 9:43.

Patrick leans back in against the sofa and stares at the clock for the umpteenth time. Images upon images filter through his mind of the state of her dress or the position of her body or of Bernard enjoying the fruits of her labor. Anger seeps under his fingernails, yet, he forces himself to remain on the sofa in his parlor. _This is her last night. No more men. No more debt. Just us, getting to know each other like we should have done a long time ago._

The seconds tick by slowly, yet his eyes stay rooted to the second hand, mesmerized by its slow pace. _She said that she would come to me after her night was finished._

_No! Stop thinking like this! She will come back to me after tonight._

_Will things be perfect, no, and I will never delude myself in thinking that they will, however, I must believe that things between us will get better. They have to, just as long as we stop hiding behind our own insecurities, the idea that just because there is silence doesn’t mean we don’t have anything to say._

_Fate brought us together, love made us grow close, and honesty will carry us the length we see ourselves traveling._

Rubbing his tired eyes, he tilts his neck side to side to stretch out his muscles. _Now, I’m just starting to sound like Sister Monica Joan._

Gathering his notes, he focuses his attention back onto the x-rays taken earlier in the morning. Doctor McGuinness had been kind enough to separate them into piles of of which need his attention the most. All of the ones that had shown advanced forms of tuberculosis have already been seen through, notes taken, and a list made for him to start the next proceedings.

Gathering the pile of x-rays Doctor McGuinness deemed to be viewed with the beginning stages of tuberculosis, mainly with lesions along their lungs, he sits back with a pad of paper balancing on his knee. Ciphering through the cards all the while keeping his eyes on the time, one name stands out.

_Marla Cavill._  

Shuffling through, it doesn’t take him too long to see her sisters name, _Nadine Cavill_.

His heart now pounding against his chest, he makes sure to not rush to any rash conclusions. His hopes heighten as he nears the end of the pile, however, they quickly dash out of his lungs when he sees it, her name, written in beautiful cursive letters; _Shelagh Mannion_.

 

* * *

 

“Do you know, Bernadette, what the best part of living in Paris is?” Bernard finishes tying the knot around her wrist, her bindings keeping her bent over the table and her legs far apart.

She twists her head so that her cheek lies flush along the table top, the cool polished wood catching the bead of sweat trailing down her temple. “No, sir.”

He pours a small amount of massage oil into his palm and rubs his hands together. “They love sex and they are not afraid to try something new,” starting at the small of her back, he begins to rub his fingers into her muscles. “They have shops where you can freely go in and buy items to help bring excitement to an otherwise dull sex life with nothing but the missionary position to look forward to.”

Gripping her silk bindings as his hands start to roam down to the globes of her ass, she suppresses a moan that is demanding to burst out from her lips when he grazes along her reddened skin. He had smacked her ass several times, his palm hard as steel, before demanding to tie her to the table

“For example,” one of his slick fingers slips between her crevice, the tip of his polished nail setting off an explosion of sensations as he presses against her puckered hole, “I was able to go into a store and to buy a toy that will have you screaming in pleasure, begging me to fulfill your carnal indulgences.”

As his hands return to the small of her back, she bites down on her bottom lip hard to keep from yelling out every curse word known to man.

“Will Patrick do that for you? Will he provide the lifestyle you crave? Will he indulge you in the sexual fantasies you desire to fulfill? Will he even give you the attention a man should give his wife?”

Silence festers between then, the slick sounds of flesh gliding and kneading flesh is the only sounds that can be heard. He is waiting, though, baiting her to break the rule of silence and obedience, so that he will have cause to punish her. However, she keeps silent, this not being their first foray into dominance.

“He fucked another woman,” his voice is the essence of calm, the deep timber making her head dizzy, “a cheap floozy who picks up unsuspecting men in pubs.”

She knows this of course, yet, she wonders how he knows.

“Will he remain faithful to you, Bernadette?” His finger once again reaches between her crevice, inserting into her tight little hole, inch by delicate inch. “The moment things became hard, he ran away and fucked the first woman that would give him the time of day.”

As much as she tries to ignore it, pleasure blossoms in the pit of her belly, the moan she had been so careful to keep buried inside her throat making its lazy way out.

“Do you honestly want to go back to that? To be made a fool of?”

 

* * *

 

“No!” Standing amongst the rubble of cards and x-rays, Patrick races to the telephone. It is only when he picks it up does he remember that she is not home. Sorting through his Rolodex, he instead finds Lindsey’s card. Quickly dialing the number, he prays that she is at her home.

“Hello.”

“Lindsey, this is Patrick.”

“It been a long time Patrick. I hope you have—”

“Listen! It is imperative that I get ahold of Shelagh right away.”

He hears her sighing, “She’s with a—”

“I know she’s with a client,” he screams into the phone, “she’s… she’s sick right now… she’s putting her life and the lives of others in danger!”

“Patrick,” her voice is now full of concern, “please tell me what is wrong.” At his silence, she adds, “If you can’t tell me then I can’t help you. I need to have a legitimate reason to take her away from her client without being punished.”

“She has the beginning stages of tuberculosis,” he whispers into the receiver.

“Dear Lord… Okay, let me make a few phone calls. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” She hangs up the phone, cold silence pounding the air around him.

Slamming the phone down, he paces back and forth through the small hallway, worry etched along every line of his face. After several seconds, or possibly hours, the phone has yet to ring. Ignoring the deep-rooted desire to throw his fist through the wall, he walks back into the parlor, picking up her card to read the notes attached.

_“8 – 9 small lesions total on both sides. Prognosis; seek medical verification at local hospital.”_

So delicate, so impersonal. He flips the card back over and traces the letters in her name. _How can this have happen?_

 

* * *

 

“This, my dear Bernadette, is the device that will have you begging me to use every time.” Bernard places a small torpedo like object down on the table in front of her. At the end of it is a small loop to grip it with. “Now, being a woman in this specific profession, I am assuming that you have had men fuck you back here?” He slips his finger all the way to his knuckle. “You may answer me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were they careful with you or did they shred you to pieces?”

“I have had different men do both.”

“Oh, my sweet Bernadette,” he leans down and draws kisses along the length of her spine. “You have my word that I will be gentle with you.” Slipping his finger out, he grabs the plug before falling down onto his knees behind her. “If you noticed, this device is slightly larger than my finger.” The tip of his nose marks a sensuous path along the inside of her thigh, “I will be inserting it in,” he kisses her between her legs, “and then I am going to fuck your delicious pussy with my mouth.”

Pulling at her bindings, a small pinch of pain crawls up the muscles in her arms. Tracing the tip of the plug up the same path he had taken, she takes in a quick rush of air when she feels the cool metal slipping through her folds as his tongue twirls against her clit. She bites into the flesh of her arm to keep herself from moaning out her pleasure.

“Oh, my sweet Bernadette, you are so wet,” his warm breath causes a myriad of sensations to erupt along her skin. “I can feel you so close to the edge.” Pulling the plug out, he then gently inserts it into her ass, his tongues still working against her clit.

Pulling on the binding with as much strength as she can, her whole-body quivers in ecstasy, her climax rushing through her veins as much as she tries to stop it.

\--Ring,Ring—

Just as she was about to tip over that glorious precipice, the telephone pulls her back, the loud annoyance bringing her back to the obedience he expects from her.

Standing up, he smacks her ass with the heel of his hand. “You were about to climax, even though I had told you not to. You will be punished.” He smacks her again before he walks over to answer the phone. “This had better be important.” After a few grunts and affirmations, he murmurs, “I will have her down in the lobby in ten minutes, however, I want to make sure that I get my money back.”

Perking her head up from the table when he slams down the phone, she silently wonders what all is going on.

Standing behind her for a moment, Bernard mutters under his breath, “Jamis will be picking you up in ten minutes. Elizabeth had said that there was an emergency.” He gives her a moment to process all of the information. “You are so beautiful, Shelagh, and I want you to be my wife. I will pay off the remainder of your debt as well as a handsome sum to Liz to never grace your life again. Just say yes, tell me that you want to move to Paris with me and we can be gone within the hour.”

Her heart erratically pounds against the table, her body now tense with confusion. She knows what her answer will be and, by the dejected sound in his voice, he also knows what she will say. This was his last chance to have her change her mind, however, even after all of the theatrics he had put on for her, her answer would have remained the same.

Receiving his answer within the silent form of her sigh, he gently pulls out the plug and makes quick work of her bindings. “I will remain faithful to you, to give you the attention an woman would crave.”

Standing up on shaky legs, she gathers all of her clothes to piece them on her body. Once her coat is buttoned up and tied around her waist, she turns back to him.

 

* * *

 

\--Ring,Ring--

Patrick rushing into the hallway. “Yes, hello?”

“Patrick, they are pulling her from her client. We’ll be over as soon as we can.” Before he can say anything back, she hangs up the telephone.

Staring at the receiver for long time, he hangs up when he hears the dial tone clicking on. Aimlessly walking back into the parlor, he goes to work at picking up the cards that have scattered all along the carpet. Looking at most of the names, he recognizes that the spread of tuberculosis has contained itself to at most two buildings. _But those are just the ones we know about._

Picking up the Cavill sister’s cards, he knows that they will have to test the rest of their family, including the two youngest boys. Adding their family to the list of names for the nuns and nurses to to see, he goes through the rest of the thankfully short stack to add other names and families for him to conduct an evaluation on.

 

* * *

 

“Bernard, I am finished with this job after tonight. While you have done your best to persuade me otherwise, I am choosing Patrick. I will always choose him.”

“I can provide so much more than him,” his brow dips in contempt. “He has proven to be nothing more than a coward who has somehow warped your mind into thinking that he loves you.”

“And you think that just because you provide money, that that will make me love you?” Silence stings the air between them. “I am finished with this job, Bernard, which, in essence, I am finished with you.”

“Then, at least when you are finished with your business with Elizabeth, come back to me, to finish what we started tonight.”

“After my business with Liz, I am going to Patrick.” She gathers her purse with the extra money needed to finish off her debt, money that she was hoping to spend on a train fare and hotel room at Brighton. “Goodbye, Bernard.” Opening the door, a large weight immediately melts off of her shoulders. Soon, after all is paid for, she will once again be free.

She steps onto the lift and presses the lobby button. _Life with Patrick will be difficult, but it will also be beautiful. Now that my job, and everything that comes with it, is behind me, I can now focus on not only my relationship with Patrick, but also my relationship with Timothy._

Once she clears the lobby, she finds Jamis waiting for her by his car near the valet. “Hello, my dear friend.” She gives him a smile as he opens the door for her. “I’m assuming we are on our way back to Liz’s house. Do you know what this emergency is?” She looks at the older man through the review mirror, his normally bright eyes cast in sorrow.

“I’m not taking you to Ms. Elizabeth,” he starts his engine and places it in gear. “I’m under strict orders to take you to Dr. Turner’s residence.”

“To Patrick?” She pushes herself up from the soft leather. “But why?”

“I was told to bring you straight there,” every chance he gets, he glances back at her through his mirror. “Please Ms. Bernadette, you should rest. It will not take us too long to get there.”

Gently laying her head against the seat, she closes her eye and allows the motion of the car to help relax her tense muscles.

 

* * *

 

—Knock, Knock, Knock—

Looking up from his list, he checks the time on his watch to see that nearly a half hour has gone by. Placing his notes and cards back into the folder, he stands and quickly marches to the door. His heart pounds against his throat as he reaches out to turn the knob.

There, instead of seeing Shelagh, a woman greets him with a warm smile. “You must be Doctor Turner.” She holds out her hand for them to shake. “Doctor Elizabeth Marxcell.”

Recognition in not only her name, but also her face rings loudly within Patrick’s mind. Shaking her hand, he mumbles, “I’ve seen you before.”

“I have given many speeches and lectures at numerous symposiums. I’m surprised that as a general practitioner in London’s poorest district, you have not seen me on many occasions.” As Lindsey walks up behind her, she glances over his shoulder and asks, “May we please come in?”

Stepping to the side, both women walk in. “Where’s Shelagh?”

“I assure you that she is on her way here as we speak.”

He closes the door, confusion still marring his features, “You are Shelagh’s madam.” He looks over to Lindsey and everything now begins to click in his head. “But you are an epidemiologist.”

Elizabeth tilts her chin and glances over to Lindsey for a moment before answering in a clipped voice, “Yes to both.” Folding her hands in front of her, she quickly adds, “Now you had told Lindsey here that you believe Shelagh has tuberculosis.”

“Yes, she had received x-rays earlier today through the x-ray van program through the National Health. Doctor McGuinness had counted a total of nine lesions on both lobes together.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, Doctor Turner, however, isn’t the film rather basic.”

“It is, however, with Doctor McGuinness’ credentials in both radiology as well as pulmonology, I am certain in his diagnosis. He had written in the notes for me to perform an examination.”

“I would appreciate the case notes and I will take Shelagh to her primary doctor.”

The fire that flashes through his eyes simmers against his throat. “I am her primary doctor.”

She gives him another gentle smile, which he sees it more as pity than anything, and calmly shakes her head, “Thank you for your help, however, I can take it from here. As her employer—”

“You’re her madam,” he exclaims with his hands thrown in the air.

“Regardless of my job title,” her voice becomes firmer, lightning piercing in her blue eyes, “I will always have her best interests when it comes to her health.”

“So, placing a debt over her head after being beaten and raped by a man through your service is keeping her best interests?” At Elizabeth’s silence, he rolls his eyes, “Your interests will always lie in the money you will make from the services Shelagh provides.”

Elizabeth purses her lips, all color draining from her cheeks, “That is where—”

“Patrick!” Shelagh bursts through the door.

Turning around, he captures her with his arms, his eyes automatically looking along her body for any damage done by her client. “Shelagh,” he is surprised when she kisses him. “Are you…,” he kisses her forehead, “are you okay?”

“Yes,” her eyes brighten when he kisses the tip of her nose, “I was called away by Liz, but when Jamis picked me up, he said that he was taking me here. Do you know what this is about?”

Gently pulling away with one more kiss to her forehead, he murmurs, “Shelagh, you—”

“Liz?” Shelagh’s eyes flash in annoyance when she sees Liz behind Patrick. “What’s going on?”

“The Doctor here had—”

“Wait,” holding up her hands, Shelagh reaches into her purse and brings out a white envelope and gives it to the older woman. “Before, you tell me anything else, this is the last of my debt owed to you. Count it, if you want, to make sure that all is there, but after tonight, I am no longer one of your employees.”

Liz stares down at the envelope, her pretty features convoluted with a mix of emotions. “I can still add more to your debt, especially for breaking my rule of gentlemanly callers outside the parameters of our work.”

“No.” Shelagh’s eyes flash in anger, “No more debt. I am done with you and done with this job. For as long as I live, I will never have to see you again.”

Liz pales at Shelagh’s words, unbeknownst to their meaning just yet.

“Shelagh,” Patrick interjects, squeezing her hand a few times, “there is something that I have to tell you and it does involve Dr. Marxcell.”

Shelagh’s eyes squint, as if she is finally cataloguing the people within the small foyer. She turns back to him, “Patrick, why is Liz and Lindsey here?”

“You are…,” the words he needs to say are stuck like glue against the top of his mouth. Taking a deep breath to help steel his nerves, he says, “You are sick, Shelagh. The x-ray you took this afternoon showed liaisons along your lungs.”

“Liaisons?”

“You will need to take a few more tests to be positive, however, you have tuberculosis.”

Her brow furrows, “Tubercu—” She covers her mouth with her fingers. “Is it active?”

“I am unsure, the film is rather basic.”

“With your lack of symptoms,” Liz calls out, “I would say that it is inactive, which mean the disease is not contagious.”

Patrick’s squeezes her hand, his gentle eyes silently pleading with her to trust him, “I need to perform an exam on you to confirm the prognosis.”

“The only thing that will confirm, Doctor Turner, is an exam with her doctor at hospital.” Liz holds out her hand, expecting Shelagh to take it. “I have Doctor Conner already alerted and on stand by.”

Shelagh buries herself further into Patrick’s side, his arm circling around her quivering shoulders, “Doctor Conner prefers to play ‘Naughty Doctor’ rather than ‘Competent Doctor’.” Her words whip through the already stale air, the truth of her statement made abundantly clear. “I would prefer to be seen by Doctor Turner.”

Patrick looks over to Doctor Marxwell and finds her to have blanched paler than the white envelope still in her hand. “I… I never knew.” She glances over to Lindsey, “Is this true for all the girls?”

“He told us that the admission to have our body was the agreement for both his service as a doctor and his silence.” Lindsey crosses her arms along her chest. “Once the required blood work and vaginal exams were completed and verified clean, he would have his disgusting way with us.”

“I never…,” she looks between the two women, “I never knew.”

“You told us to follow his instructions to the T,” Shelagh murmurs.

Watching this all unfold before him, Patrick feels nothing but sympathy for all of the ladies involved, including, unfortunately, for Doctor Marxwell as well. “If you have the ladies come into my office, I will make sure to perform the routine exams needed as well as provide a safe environment.”

“No, Patrick,” Shelagh turns to him, her brows crossed with anger, “I am finished with her and the service she provides. Why give her anymore of your time?”

“Because your friends, your co-workers were seen by a negligent doctor. The first rule of medicine is to do no harm, to which this Doctor Conner clearly did.” Patrick glances over to Liz, “If we are in agreement, I will put them on my roster under the name ‘Doctor Marxwell’s patients’. If you so choose, either you or Lindsey can join me for all examinations to ensure all proprietary measures are in place and followed.”

“And how shall I compensate you for your time?”

“With a donation to the Sisters of Saint Raymond Nonnatus.”

“And no more threats of accumulating debt,” Shelagh calls out as an afterthought.

And to the shock of all in the small foyer, Liz nods in confirmation, “Very well. Doctor Turner, please advise me of the prognosis of her disease. I will need to notify all those she came into contact with, as well as to track how she came into contact with the disease.”

“All of my findings will be in the report I will submit to the National Health. However, as far as I can see, the disease has only spread to two of the buildings in this immediate area.”

“And despite her abhorrence to me, I will secure a bed at Saint Anne’s Sanatorium for the triple treatment.” Liz’s eyes flick to the young woman next to Patrick, “It is the best.” She takes a deep breath, “Thank you Doctor Turner for your hospitality. We shall take our leave,” she nods towards Lindsey and both women leave his flat with the quiet click of the door.

“Patrick,” Shelagh sighs as she buries herself within the warmth of his chest.

For a spare moment, he wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. To have her back in his life is the closest he had come to magic, yet to have her wrapped around his body is a miracle. _She is home, health pending, the triple treatment in her future, but she is home._ “I am so sorry.”

She leans back and looks up to him, “I’m not. I am free and, if you still want, I am yours.”

He kisses the worried knot along her forehead away, “It is the one thing I have wanted since the moment I saw you working with Timothy in the kitchen.” Stealing one more kiss from her lips, he says with as much authority as he can muster, “Right; first I will conduct an examination, then, a bath if you so wish, followed by some much needed rest.”

“Just as long as you are with me every step of the way.”

“Always,” he murmurs against her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Shelagh!! The next chapter will feature, not only her time recovering in the Sanatorium, but also her and Patrick having a lot of conversations that they needed to have.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!!!! We are in the homestretch!!! I can't believe it!!! 
> 
> So this next part was so large after I had finished it (tapping out at over 10,000 words), that I had decided to make it into two chapters!!

_I haven’t been to countryside in ages,_ Patrick grips the steering wheel as luscious rolling green hills pass by him in a blur. Seated next to him is the woman he has fallen madly in love with, nervously flicking her finger nails against each other.

Since the night of her diagnosis, they had spent the last two days in a whirlwind. That first night, they had remained quiet as he confirmed her TB with the crackles in her lungs. After a kiss on her forehead and a quiet affirmation of her strength during this difficult time, he had drawn her a bath.

That is when he saw it, the bruises that marred her pristine skin around her wrists. He opened his mouth to question her, to assure himself that Bernard had not hurt her, however, he closed his lips when she smiled at him. Her soft words of gratitude piercing his heart, tearing him to shreds, and reminding him that she is free from the bindings of her debt.

It wasn’t until the next morning when she caught him looking, did she acknowledge their existence by pulling the sleeve of his sleep shirt down to cover them again. “It looks more painful than it really is.” And before she could elaborate, the clock chimed, reminding him that she still had to get dressed so that he could take her back to her flat. Silence had rung in his ears in the car, yet, she refused to look at him.

For the remainder of the day, he had several appointments to make to the families that had shown the same disease, including the Cavill family, while Lindsey had shown up to take her to hospital for further tests. She had called while Shelagh was soaking in the bath to ask if there was anything she could do. He told her that she could take Shelagh to the hospital for them to run their standard test. While he desperately wanted to be the one to drive her, he knew that it would be impossible with the needs of the community he serves.

Later that night, she had called him to tell me that she was home from the hospital and, with the help of Doctor Marxcell, she was able to secure a bed at St. Anne’s Sanatorium. She had also told him that she will be finalizing all the arrangements that needed to be secured the following day. Feeling the pressure of time dwindling down, he told her that he would be the one to drive her to the Sanatorium. She, at first refused, knowing that his days within the following week was filled to the brim with tuberculosis patients and their families, but he told her that he was driving and that it was final.

Now, as he races closer and closer to the sanatorium, the same silence that he had promised both himself and her that they would never experience again, is currently pulsing inside his car, as if it were a living entity smearing their lack of honor in their faces. Yet, for all of the thoughts running through his brain, he doesn’t know what to say or even where to start. Just like the long, winding road before him, there is no beginning or end in sight.

“I don’t know where to begin, Patrick.” Her words are as soft as a rose petal, vulnerable to the lightning crackling between them.

“I have been wondering that myself,” he never takes his eyes off of the road, “how to start the most important conversation.” He comes to a stop in the road and looks both ways for traffic at a desolate intersection. Beating the pad of his thumb against the hard leather, he steals a glance her way to see that she is staring out of the window. “Words, convictions, even passion had never failed me as it is right now.”

She finally looks at him, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. His heart breaks into a million tiny fragments and falls helplessly at his feet. “Tuesday morning, I knew exactly where to begin this conversation and, by that evening, I was helplessly scrambling to find words other than ‘I’m sorry’.”

Just as he turns to her, a car horn sounds off from behind them. Rolling his eyes, he eases his foot off of the break and onto the accelerator to take a right while the impatient driver behind him took a left.

“It’s as if the world is conspiring against us, tugging us away as we desperately hold on by the tips of our fingers.” Reaching out, she captures his hand from the steering wheel before resuming her gaze out of the window.

Flipping his wrist, he interlocks their fingers together, their palms kissing, as he settles their connection on the seat between them. For the remainder of the drive, silence reigns supreme. As he parks the car in front of the weather worn building, he lifts their combined hands and kisses her knuckles. “I will come to visit you, every Sunday.”

“You would want that, even after all that has happened, all that has conspired?” Shadows of doubt cast along her stormy eyes.

“This will not be easy,” he presses her hand against his heart, “but I am determined, now more than ever, that we will see through this, that we will create our own beginning.”

“I’m scared,” the small quiver in her voice, the vulnerability in her eyes, nearly chokes him.

“Right,” he clears his throat of the myriad of emotions clogging it, “right after the war, when I felt at my lowest, I kept a journal as a way to put a voice to my feelings. It helped a great deal. When I come to see you on Sunday, I will bring you one.”

The corners of her mouth lift a fraction of a centimeter, his heart bursting at the seams.

“I know that it’s going to be difficult, with everything on your plate, but we will get through this,” he tightens his grip, wishing that he can send all of his strength to her through their small touch. Giving her another kiss on her knuckles, he slowly let’s go of her hand and steps out of the car. He first stops at the boot to get her suitcase and then the passenger side to open the door for her. “The triple treatment can be miraculous.”

“We will see,” she murmurs into his chest, her words not the least bit hopeful. “I look forward to your visit on Sunday,” and with a small withering smile, she gathers her suitcase from his hand and makes her way towards the sanatorium.

 

* * *

 

“There you go Shelagh,” Nurse Peters helps her into her bed, her body feeling extremely weak from the influx of medicine coursing through her sick body. She wipes her forehead with a cool washcloth, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“At some time,” her eyes can barely stay open, “can I please get a pencil and some paper?”

Her smile is kind, always kind, “It will be on your bedside table by the time you wake up.”

With her eyes already closed, she is unsure if she murmurs her gratitude or not as sleep finally takes a hold of her.

For the longest time, she walks down a misty road, no people, no animals, no cars or buildings, yet for hours, all she would do is just walk. After a while, she stops and looks towards the sky. “Where am I going?” No one answers her. Continuing to stroll down the road, she stops again when she is met with a dead end. Looking both ways, she sees that both options remain unchanged. Her choice is simple, either go right or left, yet she is unsure. Glancing up towards the heavens, she asks, “Which way should I go?”

Snapping her eyes open, the weak sunlight filters through her sheer curtains

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Nurse Peters chirps.

Stretching her chin side to side, she looks to the nurse with a small smile when she sees her placing a cup of tea and a biscuit on the table beside her. “How long have I been asleep?”

“The triple treatment can cause extreme drowsiness,” she begins, her brows lifting in concern, “you have been asleep for almost thirty hours.”

“Oh goodness, it doesn’t feel like it,” she reaches for the teacup and notices a journal dressed in a pretty blue ribbon.

“A gentleman, by the name of Doctor Turner, came yesterday to see you. We had told him that you were still asleep, but he wanted to come and sit with you for a bit. He left that and said that you would know what it was for.”

“I’m only sad that I missed his visit,” she picks up her teacup and takes a small sip.

“Did you still need the paper and pencil?”

She shakes her head, “No, but thank you,” she takes a small bite of her biscuit, already feeling quite full. “Can you help me up?”

Gently grabbing her arm, Nurse Peters pulls her forward, places the pillow upright, and eases her back. “After another week or so of the treatment, you should be able to not feel so listless.”

“I know from my past training that listlessness, lack of appetite, and tiredness are all side effects of the triple treatment.” She takes one more sip before setting her cup onto the table.

“And those bruises,” Nurse Peters sympathetic eyes narrow onto the fading brown marks on her wrist.

“A life that I never wish to return to,” Shelagh murmurs under her breath. “Not a product of Doctor Turner, I assure you.”

“Okay,” the nurse takes away the empty cup and half eaten biscuit, “perhaps when you gain your strength back, you will enjoy our library or a walk around the garden.”

“That is most kind,” Shelagh smiles, “thank you, Nurse Peters.”

“Ring the bell if you need anything, otherwise I’ll be back in here in about twenty minutes to check on you,” with a slight wink, she slips out the door.

Once the door is closed, Shelagh reaches over to the journal and pulls it into her lap. Freeing it of the ribbon, she opens the cover to see a small note written on the first page;

 

_Dear Ms. Shelagh,_

_Dad had told me that you were in the hospital sick. I do hope that you will get better soon. I am_  
currently starting my new science project called ‘The Death of Insects’. I am going to find already  
dead insects and find out how they had died. I have already found a moth, a bee,  
a dragonfly, and a spider. (I know spiders are not insects, but they are really cool!)

_I will let you know how it goes,_

_Timothy Turner_

 

Feeling her smile reach her eyes, she takes in the picture of both him and her finding insects and rereads his note two more times before turning the page.

There she finds another note, but this one in sloppier handwriting;

 

_My Dearest Shelagh,_

_I know that coming in on this Sunday, I will find you fast asleep (in fact, I’ll be more surprised_  
if you are awake). I hope that you are responding to the treatment well. If all goes to plan,  
then when I visit you the following Sunday, you will be awake and a bit more alert.

_The Cavill Family are all receiving treatment at a smaller sanatorium right outside of Croydon._  
The disease had only spread to the father, the two daughters, and one of the sons.  
Just like you, they were in the beginning stages, Marla being the only one showing  
advanced active disease.

_Timothy and I miss you terribly. Taking my own advice, I am writing down different thoughts_  
as they pass through my mind. I’m hoping that all the things I write will be the beginning we  
desperately need to start at.

_I love you to Brighton and back,_

_Patrick Turner_

 

Tracing the tip of her finger along his slanted letter, she idly wonders what to write about. She pulls the pencil from its grasp along the bind and fiddles with it between her fingers. Turning the page, she slants her pencil in place, ready to write, yet, for the longest time, she just stares at the white paper, finding that blank page daunting. Lifting the pencil off of the pad, Shelagh idly wonders where anyone would begin a conversation like this.

Glancing out of the window, she takes a moment to admire the beauty of the view from her room. Despite the disease that rattles in her chest, she now finds the hope that Patrick was talking about when he had drove her to the Sanatorium.

After a while, the comfort of optimistic love filling her mind, she thinks of Brighton, the beach, the memories, both old and new. Brighton is where her love began and, gripping the pencil tighter, she knows that that will be her starting point.

Remembering the first time she had gone with her family; her pencil begins to move on its own.

 

* * *

 

“Why, hello there,” Patrick steps out from the door leading out to the portico. “You are looking very well.”

Shelagh looks up from her journal with a small smile playing on her lips. “I am feeling a lot better than last Sunday.” He settles down in the chair next to her, “The doctors are pleased to see that I am responding well to treatment so far, but it is still rather early to see if there are any changes.”

“Nurse Peters tells me that this is your first time venturing out of your room. She also gave me strict orders that if you were starting to feel unwell, then I should come and get her.” He looks down at the journal in her lap, not reading the words, but excited to see something there. “I’m glad you received your journal.”

“I’ve been writing in it every single day since I woke up. Nurse Peters now calls me Ernest Hemingway.” She taps the end of her pencil on the page she was writing on. “Its been mostly scribbles, notes, a few drawings here and there, but I find it soothing. Whatever something pops into my head, I put pencil to paper and close my eyes.”

Reaching inside his breast pocket, he takes out his own notepad. Though a lot smaller than her journal, he is able to take it anywhere with him should the need arise to write down a specific thought. “Most of it, so far at least, is about Marianne.”

“I’ve mostly written about Brighton.”

He doesn’t know why, but that surprises him. “Really?”

She nods, “I feel it’s where it all started for me. It’s one of the best memories I have with my family. Growing up on a farm in Aberdeen, we didn’t have a lot of chances to get out of our small community. One year, the summer before my mother passed away, my father told us that we were taking a trip to the seaside. It was unexpected, but it filled me and my brothers with such excitement.”

“I bet,” he helps to fix her blanket when he notices that she shivers from the cool wind.

“When we got there, my brothers and I played on the beach, running along the water, collecting shells, chasing after the birds.” Her eyes glaze over in rich memories. “My father even bought us a ninety-nine. It was so sweet, the ice cream melting down my hands before I even had the chance to finish it.” For the longest time, she stares off into the trees, obviously lost in her own thoughts.

“I think this is the first true smile I have seen from you in a long time,” his eyes tick side to side as her smile widens. “It’s quite beautiful.”

Blushing, her fingers flip along the pages, her smile melting into curiosity. “May I show you a picture?”

“Always,” he murmurs as he wraps his arm around her shoulder.

Pulling out the photo from deep inside her journal, she hands it to him to see. “A photographer was taking pictures on the beach with his new camera. He had taken one of me and my brothers. Other than a family photo taken when I was but a wee thing, this is the only other picture I possess of my family.”

He stares down at the black and white photo, other than its normal wear and tear along the edges and slight creases, it is in pristine condition. “You look so young and carefree. How old were you and your brothers?”

“Caelan,” she points to the tallest child, “was the oldest at twelve. Fin,” she points to the smaller boy, “was eleven. I was eight. We had so much fun during those three days. It was like the sunshine made us invincible.” She runs her pinky down the edge of the photo. “I didn’t know it yet, but that was the last summer my family would ever feel happiness.”

Handing back the picture, Patrick kisses the top of her head as she gently places it back into its safe little hiding spot.

“I guess I should have known that something was amiss, but at that time, we were having the time of our lives.” She stares down into her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the edges of the pages. “Looking back, I now realize that the real reason we had gone down to Brighton was so that my mother could see a doctor. There are memories of me and my brothers playing on the boardwalk while they went into some building. It wasn’t until I had gone back with Lindsey when I realized that it was a doctor’s office. A few months after we had come home, she died.”

Feeling the silence weigh heavily between them, Patrick is curious as to what her mother died from. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tells himself that he shouldn’t rush her, but at the same time, this was their starting point, and he’ll be damned if he allows this precious moment to pass. “Do you remember what she passed away from?”

“Not until I was much older. After we received Fin’s letter of death from the army, my father had taken to the bottle rather hard. Just the previous year, we had to bury my other brother. He had drunkenly told me that it was cancer that had taken my mother.” Hearing her take a shuddering breath in, she quietly adds, “He blamed me for both their deaths and for being the sole survivor.”

“Oh, Shelagh,” He tightens his embrace along her body, “that is a horrible thing to be told.”

“I tried to find serenity in various forms since my mother’s passing. I found success for a little while with my brothers, however with war quickly looming and soon overtaking our lives, I knew that such happiness would never be permanent. After their deaths, I foolishly thought I would be able to find the same success in the arms of my distant father…,” she allows her sentence to hang in midair.

“He did not wish to find that same peace,” Patrick finishes for her.

“The arms I thought would be able to comfort me were as cold as my dead brothers,” she finally glances up into his eyes, her own looking very tired, “often finding my cheek to settle his anger.”

His heart breaks. So often, men, especially those who have seen fierce battles up close, didn’t know how to process life outside of a warzone.

“After I turned eighteen, I left for London.” She lays her head on his shoulder. “I’ve never been back to Aberdeen and I’ve been back to Brighton only a handful of times.”

He glances over to her just in time to see her stifle a yawn, her shivers being felt through the thickness of the blanket. “Let’s get you back inside.”

She takes a deep breath, stubbornness in her eyes, “But there is still so much.”

“This is a good stopping point,” he threads a lose strand of hair behind her ear. “This was a good start.”

“It’s only going to get worse from here,” she mutters under her breath.

“Now look who is trying to push away,” he softly kisses her temple. “No, I will be back next Sunday and we will pick up where we left off.” Putting the blanket and journal off to the side, he helps her up and takes her inside where Nurse Peters is waiting for them. When Shelagh is taken off to her room, Patrick goes back to pick up the journal and blanket.

Taking out a piece of paper from his own notebook, he scrawls _I love you_ before slipping it between the pages.

 

* * *

 

“So, is Doctor Turner coming in today?” Nurse Peters hands Shelagh her cup of tea and biscuit.

“As far as I know,” she takes a sip. The previous week, he had called to tell her that he would not be able to come out with Timothy running a temperature. “I think I will receive him in the garden. May I use a blanket?”

“To keep you from catching pneumonia, we can provide as many blankets as you want.” She leaves another biscuit, “When you have finished your tea, meet me in the parlor.”

“Yes, ma’am.” As Shelagh watches the nurse walk out, she thinks back the last few weeks. It seems as if every day she had taken the treatment it has been easier and easier to cope. With the encouragement of the staff, she has been up and walking around, each day pushing herself further and further.

Just the day before, she was able to walk once around the garden. It had tired her out considerably, to the point of exhaustion, but it was a small victory.

Glancing at the time, she finishes the rest of her tea and biscuit before stepping out of bed. Just as she walks into the parlor, she is met, by her surprise, to both Nurse Peters and Patrick. Watching the lines of his beautiful smile reach all the way up to his eyes, he holds up both a blanket and a thermos.

“It looks as if Doctor Turner came prepared this time,” Nurse Peters gives him a sly look. “Let me help you out to the garden and then I will leave you two alone.” With a smirk, she extends her arm and takes her outside. The air is far cooler than it was the last time he had come to see her, so he places one of the blankets on the bench before she sits down. “There now,” Nurse Peter smiles, “do you need anything else?”

“No thank you,” Shelagh looks up, “you have been wonderful.”

“Of course, my dear,” she then glances over to Patrick, her smile immediately disappearing, “do I need to remind you of your responsibilities, Doctor?” She expresses the last word with a hiss.

“No, ma’am,” he gulps, “I will have her in at a reasonable time.”

“Very well,” with a nod to both, Nurse Peters walks back into the building.

Shelagh can’t help but quip, “Are you not playing nicely with the nurses, Patrick?”

“I have a good report with the staff,” Patrick settles down next to her, “She just wasn’t happy that I had brought you inside in such a poor state last time.”

“Oh,” she grins, “I’m sure all is forgiven when I walk in today on my own accord. I have been getting stronger since starting the treatments.”

“Really?”

“Thanks to the x-ray van, the doctors had told me that they were able to treat me before it had spread to full blown active disease.” She glances back at the building now her home and whispers, “I am a lot luckier than most of the patients in here.” Shaking her head when she feels him palm her shoulder, she looks back to him, “Tell me, how is Timothy getting on.”

“He’s doing famously,” he pulls out an envelope, “he told me to give this to you with the implicit instruction for me not to open it.”

She takes it and places it in her lap, “I will open it after dinner. How is his science project going?”

He rolls his eyes, “He’s found so many insects, however, he wants me to help diagnose as to how they died. Honestly, it’s not my area of expertise, so he’s taken to both the surgery to use the microscope and the library for research.”

She smiles a warm smile, “Such an inquiring mind. Was he always like that?”

“Ever since he was a baby, always getting into things, exploring his surroundings, trying to figure out how certain things worked.”

“Sounds a lot like you.”

“I guess when I was his age,” he opens his thermos and pours her some tea, “I was more inquisitive, yet after the war, I felt as if I had lost that part of me.”

The last time he was here, she had shared about her past, now, her journal is filled with questions of his past. _What was Patrick like as a boy? What was his experience in the war? How did he meet Marianne?_ Are among the questions littering the last page she was on. “Where were you stationed?”

“A small town near Sicily, however, when the troops advanced, so did our medical unit.” His eyes lose focus, his cheeks pale as if he will never be happy again. “I don’t talk about the war as much as I should. It brings me to a place in my mind that I never want to go again.”

Shelagh reaches out and grabs his hand. He tenses but doesn’t shudder her away. “And what about Marianne?”

He squeezes her hand and smiles, some of the color returning to his cheeks, “One of the only good things that came out of the war was meeting her. During my training, before leaving for Italy, we had met through a mutual friend. She was a nurse in his ward and my friend had a crush on a nurse from my ward. We would go out dancing or to the pubs and I fell madly in love with her.”

“What attracted you to her?” Shelagh coyly grins over the rim of her cup, “Or was it the other way around?”

“The moment I met her, I knew that she was different than all the other women I have met. Her smile was gorgeous while her eyes sparkled like the sunlight hitting the water. She often used her humor and intelligence to make me blush like a prepubescent schoolboy.”

“Funny and smart, she sounds like she ran you round and round in circles.”

Patrick smirks, “I didn’t have a chance. When I had gotten my orders to leave, she wanted to marry me,” the smile melts into anguish, “I didn’t want to condemn her to a life of servitude if something had happened to me.” His brows furrow in pain, no doubt the horrid memories of war playing in his mind. “I buried myself into work, which, in the long run, did not help.”

“And when you came back?”

He runs his finger along his bottom lip, eyes staring at the ground in front of them. “I… I was not well after the war, years of stress had made me ill.” He visibly shakes the memories from his mind and takes a deep breath. “When I came back to Marianne, she had waited for me. A few months later, we were married.”

“And Master Turner came soon after?”

He poured more tea into her empty cup. “It took a few months, with our move to Poplar and my new position as GP. Did you know that Sister Evangelina delivered Timothy?” He laughs, his eyes sparkling in happier memories, “I was a complete mess for that whole year.”

There’s one more question she had written in her journal, but had immediately crossed it out, fearful that it is more of a private moment between Patrick and Marianne, than with her.

“We had tried for more children," she wonders if he had read her mind, "but she had suffered from some complications during her labor with Tim, that we were never able to bring a child to full term.”

Her heart breaks for Patrick and for Marianne. That’s an obstacle she would never wish on her worse enemy.

“After her third miscarriage, we gave up hope of having any more children.” He swallows hard, “It was hard during those months of our marriage. I wanted to comfort her, but she didn’t want me to touch her. After that, we both buried ourselves into the community. Anytime that we made love was few and far between, and when we did, she was always very scared that she would get pregnant.”

She covers the back of his hand, “That must have been very hard for you, to be so close to touch her, yet so far away.”

“After a while, it didn’t matter to me, we were still so much in love, that I was willing to do anything for her.” Patrick puts on a brave smile as he squeezes her hand with his thumb. “Then she had gotten sick with cancer. It was the hardest thing I had to watch; every day, she became worse and worse, until she was an empty shell, no more life, no more love.” Tears rush to the corner of his eyes, yet he holds them back. “After she died, I fell into a depression where I took more to the bottle than my new role as a widowed father. It wasn’t until Tim had broken his arm and for Sister Evangelina to read me the riot act at my appalling behavior did I throw that stupid bottle away.”

“And then we met,” she brightly quips.

“And you changed my life for the better,” he leans in and kisses her cheek.

“Doctor Turner!” Nurse Peters walks out quickly from the building to their spot in the garden. “We had just received a call from your surgery of an emergency with a Mrs. Hollard. The nurse said that you would understand.”

Handing him the top of his thermos, Shelagh looks to him, “Go. You are needed, and it is almost time for dinner here.”

He kisses her cheek, “I love you, my darling Shelagh.” With a small nod to the nurse, he rushes around the building.

“You two looked rather cozy out here,” Nurse Peters smirks.

“We’re getting there,” Shelagh slowly stands from the bench, grasping the envelope from Timothy. “Oh, no. He forgot his blanket.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back next Sunday to fetch it.” Grabbing onto her elbow, the nurse helps her inside. “Your favorite is being served for dinner.”

“Sheppard’s Pie?” At Nurse Peters enthusiastic nod, Shelagh licks her lips, “It’s quite delicious.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, after Nurse Peters brought in a thin slice of carrot cake, Shelagh sits in bed as she opens Timothy's letter. Two papers slip out, a picture and a note.

 

_Dear Ms. Shelagh,_

_I hope this letter is finding you well. Dad had told me that you were responding to the medicine nicely._

_I have made vast improvements in my science project, although, dad is no help. He told me that the_  
_death of insects were not his area of expertise. However, with the help of a microscope, I have been able_  
_to make gains. I hope you will be back in time from the hospital to see it on display._

_Enclosed is a picture from our time at Brighton. I also hope that when you are well, we will be able to_  
_go together._

_Sincerly,_

_Timothy Turner_

 

Staring down at the picture he had lovingly made with colored pencils and crayons, she takes in every detail of the day from the boy's prospective; the carousel in the background, the ice cream cones all three of them are holding, even the blue scarf the Turner men had gotten her a few weeks after around her neck.

Setting both the letter and picture on her bedside table, she resolves to write him back with a water color painting from the view outside her window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget that the story continues on in the next chapter! :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STOP!!!!! If you are reading this chapter without having read the last one, you might be a tad bit confused!! 
> 
> If you have read the last chapter, then enjoy! :)

“That’s the last of them, Patrick,” Lindsey smiles as she walks in and closes the door to his office.

“It is imperative that these make it safely to Doctor Marxcell without being damaged to finish out the exams performed on the women today.” He tapes up the last vial and packs it away.

“Jamis will make sure to hold it with the steadiest of hands.” She settles down into the seat in front of his desk. “How’s Shelagh doing?”

“She’s looked a lot better when I saw this past Sunday.” He looks up to the woman in front of him, “I’ll ask this Sunday when she can receive more visitors.”

“I’m not sure if that’s possible,” she murmurs, “now that she is no longer a co-worker, it will be harder to keep our friendship intact, especially if you’re going to marry her.”

“I never understood that.” He rolls his eyes. “You two are friends, surely, you can meet up occasionally to talk and have dinner.”

“You wouldn’t think that I was trying to convince her to comeback to this career?”

Patrick laughs, “After the night of her diagnosis, would Doctor Marxcell even take her back?”

Lindsey laughs too, “No, I suppose not. It’s just usually when a woman leaves the profession to marry, their husbands are adamant for them not to go back to their old lifestyle, including their friends.” She opens her purse and pulls out two cigarettes, “You are a rare breed, Patrick.”

“I just want her happy,” he takes his lighter from his pocket and leans forward to light both fags, “and you make her happy.”

She hands him one of the cigarettes, “You make her happy too and I think that’s all Shelagh wanted out of life was pure happiness.” She takes a few puffs, “There have been men, her former clients, who have been wanting to help pay for her medical expenses, Bernard on the forefront, however, Liz has been turning them down, instead encouraging them to donate to charities that help care for the sick.”

Anger begins to seep into his veins at the idea of Bernard still wanting to take Shelagh away.

“Liz told Bernard that Shelagh will no longer be available to him. He has since left for Paris, where I hear he’s picked up another woman.” Lindsey flicks her ash into the tray, “He’s stubborn, but I think he’s finally come to the conclusion that he will never have Shelagh.”  

“I wish him all the best of luck,” and petulantly adds, “in Paris.”

Killing her cigarette in the ashtray, Lindsey stands up, Patrick following after her, “Be sure to give Shelagh my best. I would like to visit her, but only if she is comfortable with me being there.”

“I’ll let her know and call you.” Patrick hands her the box with the urine and blood samples. “Tell Doctor Marxcell to call to make an appointment with the next group of women.”

“I will,” Lindsey kindly smiles. “Have a good day, Patrick.”

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Patrick,” Shelagh smiles as she walks into the parlor. The blanket, he had let her keep since he brought it a few weeks ago, hangs over her arm. “I missed you last Sunday.”

His brow furrows, “Did you get my note?”

“Yes, she did,” Nurse Peters strolls in, “hand delivered it myself.” She hands Patrick another blanket. “It’s starting to get cooler. Tea time will be in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles his most charming smile.

The nurse dramatically rolls her eyes, “And, if you are good, I will see about you joining us for tea.” Giving them a sneaky smile, she walks over to another patient.

Crooking his elbow, Shelagh threads her hand through and he walks her outside to the bench they now consider theirs. “I think you’re starting to grow on her.”

“She is rather protective of you, so instead of going against the grain, I might as well smooth the wrongs from a few months ago.” Laying down a blanket on the bench, he sets her down before laying the other blanket over her legs. “I saw Lindsey these past few weeks. She gives you her best and, I think, she wants to come visit you, if you are agreeable.”

Shelagh softly smiles, “I miss seeing her.”

“Then shall I tell her that she is welcomed to come visit?”

“It’s going to hard. For so long, once someone left, we would never hear back from them.” She takes a deep breath, “I would love to see her.”

“She had told me the same thing when I had mentioned it.” He opens his thermos and pours her a cup of tea. “I think you two should make plans to meet with each other for dinners or lunches.” At her wide eyes, he quietly explains, “I am not blind, I can see that you two are close. What kind of man would that make me to tell you to never see her again? Not to mention, it would show that I don’t trust you.”

“She isn’t just my friend, Patrick,” she looks around them to see that they are alone in the garden. “We had a sexual relationship together. Are you really comfortable with me and her meeting up to talk about old times?”

“Are you going to have an affair with her behind my back?”

“Of course not,” then she gives him mischievous smirk, “but we can all have a ménage à trois together.”

A shadow of trepidation passes through his eyes as he murmurs under his breath, “Tempting.”

In their intervening Sundays since they had began talking, she had been careful to steer clear of her career as a prostitute, only barely touching on the subject of sex when he had told her how he and Marianne had trouble having more kids. In fact, ever since that specific conversation, they had mostly talked about their families; her brothers, his parents, Timothy and Granny Parker. It was safe grounds to be on especially with more people around the gardens wanting to get in the last of the warm sun.

Now that her strength is up and she is able to visit with him for a lot longer, she knows that the subject of her former life as a whore should be talked about. Not knowing where to begin, she dives in with the first thing that comes to mind. “I met Lindsey when I first came into the profession. I found her to be brash, but after watching her with a client, I realized that she was brilliant.”

“I remember her telling me that you saved her life, but she never went into detail.”

She pushes her hair back behind her ear, “We had a meeting with a client of hers. When I got there, I saw that he had smacked her around. Panicking, I knocked him over the head and we were able to get out. He had gone to the police, of course, but because we were meeting in his house, no one was able to give witness. With Liz paying off some of the officers, they were able to drop the case.”

“Did she get in trouble with Doctor Marxcell?”

She takes a sip of her cooled tea. “Assaulting a client, even in self-defense is looked down upon in this profession. In the eyes of the law, the whore would be placed in jail for prostitution, not to mention, it would make the business vulnerable to raids.”

Patrick shake his head, “If I earned a crown every time I heard that when the police brought me in during an assault case, I would be wealthier than the Queen herself.”

“It’s the way of life as a prostitute, no matter if you are high-end or Cable Street.” She finishes her tea and silently asks for more. “While she was recovering from her bruises, I had taken her to Brighton as a thank you for taking the heat of assaulting a client.”

“Did you go for the day?”

“We went for the weekend. There, we were able to perfect our double act.” His eyes widen to the size of saucers. “She also taught me everything I know about taking a man in my mouth,” she bats her eyelashes.

He clears his throat, his ears blushing pink. “How did all it start? This… career… how did you go from being a nun to being a...,” he looks around, “a prostitute?”

“When I was old enough to leave home in the Spring of 1949, I ran away to London and found a calling into nursing. Just like you coming back from the war, the National Health needed more women for nursing. A year after that, and with much discussion with Sister Jesu Emmanuel, who was the religious sister in charge of the hospital I was training at, I found my calling into the religious life.”

“Were you able to find that peace you were looking for?”

She ticks her head side to side, “For a moment I thrived with the strict rules and novice vows. I was on my way to finalizing those vows when I met Robert.” She closes her eyes and thinks back to moment they had met. “He was beautiful, patient, and kind. He was interning to become a pediatrician at the hospital I was finishing my training at.”

“You fell madly in love,” she glances over to him to see him give a crooked smile. “It’s the same silly smile I had when I had met Marianne.”

She quietly giggles into the rim of her cup as she takes her last sip. “Even though I was wearing a novitiates dress, he didn’t treat me as if I was a delicate tea cup. The same week I had signed my papers to exit the order, he received his from the National Service. He was being sent, as a doctor, to a place I had never heard before – Korea.”

Patrick pours more tea into her cup, his features pinched in discontentment, “I was incredibly angry that we had somehow gotten ourselves into this conflict. We had just finished with one war and had begun another.”

Shelagh cradles the warm cup. “He died there in an ambush on a Red Cross compound,” she leans against Patrick’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her temple.

“For the longest time, I was angry at the world. And then that anger melded into depression, many of my thoughts turned to how I was just wasted space on this planet that obviously didn’t want me here.” Her vision blurs, “One slit of a knife, one step off of an edge, one pill would take me away from the constant pain of loss that seemed to have followed me since I was a young girl.”

He kisses her temple, “I am so glad none of those scenarios played out.”

“In the months after, the nuns, those dear, sweet women, wanted to take me back, however, before Robert left, we had cemented our love with an engagement ring and a few nights together. For a long time after his death, I was lost, unsure of where I belonged.”

“How did that all change?”

“Elizabeth Marxcell, Robert’s mother, saw me in a shop one day, I had taken a job there as a seamstress. She asked me to dinner and that is where she had offered me a job.” He looks to her with disbelief, “Not as a prostitute, but as a lab assistant. I had declined. I never wanted to step foot back into the role in which I had met Robert. That is when she told me about this job as a girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend?”

She bites down on her bottom lip, “A woman you can pay to take her on a date, mainly to functions or balls, where it was expected to bring a lady friend, yet, with no sex at the end of the night.” She sarcastically laughs under her breath, “I had declined, of course, yet she gave me her number to call her if I had changed my mind.”

Patrick furrows his brows, “You were her son’s fiancé and yet she propositioned for a job in her madam’s service after her son had died?”

“I know,” she sighs. “I was angry and confused and I felt trapped. In London, I was constantly reminded of Robert. If I went back home to Aberdeen, then my father would have picked up where he left off.” She sets her cup on her knee and reaches out to grab his hand. “The idea of pills or a bridge became appealing to me once more.”

“My God, Shelagh,” Patrick squeezes her hand.

“Before I could make a decision, I had received a phone call from a hospital in Aberdeen saying that my father had a massive stroke and that he was placed in a home. While the costs of medical bills where under the National Health’s purview, the large amount of debts he had collected over the years since my brother’s death was not. It was then left to me to come up with a large sum of money and, if I had died, then the debts would have carried over to my newly married cousin.”

“And that’s when you went to work for Doctor Marxcell?” When she nods, he abruptly stands, pacing back and forth in front of her. “She took advantage of you, Shelagh! She used you in when your spirit was kicked all the way down to the ground.”

“And what would have you done, Patrick? I was all alone in a large city with creditors in the form of burly men knocking down my door with no prospects of a good paying, stable job.” She darts out her hand to catch his and pulls him back to sit next to her. “In the long run, it looks as if she had tad taken advantage of me, but at the time, she paid off my father’s debts. She gave me the choice of which field to pay her back; lab assistant, girlfriend or whore, and I chose whore because it was the quickest way.”

Watching his eyes tick as he was visibly taking everything in, Shelagh looks around the garden to see that no one had overheard their conversation. “You chose…,” he doesn’t finish his thought.

“I chose because I would never have be able to pay back everything that is owed by working as a seamstress in a small shop or even a lab assistant. I chose because it was easier to pay Liz back rather than the thugs my father borrowed money from.” She let’s go of his hand, now unsure how he would look at her. “I chose to take the easy way out.”

He reaches out and pulls her hand back into his lap, “No, Shelagh, the easy way out was the pills or a bridge or a blade.” Fully turning to her, he captures her cheek within his palm, “You chose the hardest road to take.” He envelopes her into a tight embrace, “You were incredibly brave.”

“Looking back, I don’t think it was brave at all,” she mumbles into his chest.

“But it brought me to you,” he kisses the top of her head. “Tell me about when you first started.”

Slightly leaning out, she explains, “Liz started me off as a girlfriend. Some men, of course wanted more and was willing to pay extra on the side, yet Jamis was there to pick me up and to make sure nothing had happened. Then, she placed me with Lindsey to learn how to negotiate and the mechanics of the business portion.”

“And you two became good friends.”

Shelagh nods, “After a while, she taught me that I needed to find a niche to make it big this field, something that no other girl had. That’s when I started using my time as a nun to my advantage. I felt so horrible doing so, yet, that is when I started making double, even triple of what was being negotiated. Within a few months, I was able to pay back Liz and I had enough regulars to keep going if I didn’t want to take on new clients.”

Leaning back against the back of the bench, Patrick places his arm around Shelagh’s shoulders, encouraging her to snuggle closer. “So, what made you move to Poplar?”

“One of my clients found out where my flat was. Ever since the beginning, Lindsey was always adamant that our clients should never know where we live. When I kept seeing him, I knew I had to move out of the areas where there was no chance of a client accidentally seeing me, hence Poplar.” She lays her head onto his shoulder. “No offense, but men who call Poplar their home would never be able to afford me.”

“Unless, of course, you end up falling in love with a man who lives in Poplar,” he sheepishly grins.

“It was something that I never thought would happen to me. God had granted me a man to love before, and then, on top of that, I had sinned against the flesh, and defiled the name of the beloved women to help spread the good word.” She looks up to him, “This man, a widow, with his son who loves pancakes had taken me by surprise. I never thought that I would find love again.”

“After the death of the woman I had wanted to spend the rest of my life, I never thought I would find love again either. This woman, who, at one point, had the weight of the world against her, who has every reason to dismiss this man as being too idealistic, had taken me into her arms and wishes to love again.”

Sitting within the stillness of nature, they hold onto each other, the silence no longer feeling as oppressive as it had before. While, they still have so much to say and to learn about each other, they now have a starting point with the end gloriously in sight.

“Are you two love birds up for some tea and biscuits?” Nurse Peters walks down the steps.

“Is Patrick able to stay?”

The nurse nods, a kind smile adorning her cheeks, “He can stay until visiting hours are over, if he would like.”

“I would like that very much,” Patrick stands and helps Shelagh to her feet. Gathering the blankets and thermos, the three of them walk inside.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, darling,” Patrick stands as Shelagh comes to greet her in the garden. “No Nurse Peters?”

“She’s off with some other patients,” she gives him a peck on the cheek before wrapping her arm around his elbow. “Do you mind if we walk for a bit? I want to stretch my legs out.”

“Yes, of course.” For a few moments, they drift into a comfortable silence as they each look at the plants readying themselves to go into hibernation.

Once they make it down to the pond, they had discovered together a few weeks ago, Shelagh settles down on the bench with Patrick next to her. “Patrick?”

He looks to her with a smile adorning his face. Ever since their initial talks of delving into histories and reasons as to her career choice, their conversations have been more flowing, open to questions previously thought too personal. Yet, as he studies her features, he notices a wrinkle of worry between her brows. 

“We have been honest with each other with most information about our lives,” she plays with her fingers in her lap, “but we haven’t talked about sex.”

Caught unawares, he briefly wonders how their conversation will take root today. “I thought we would talk about it when we would start to making love.” Even he knows that his excuse is weak, so he tries again. “Honestly, I’m nervous, because it is the biggest difference between us.”

“I know, but it sometimes feels like the most oppressive thing still stuck between us, like a large rainbow elephant.”

Assuming that she has a better starting place than he, he quietly asks, “Where would you like to begin?”

She opens her mouth, the determination set her eyes slips into fear as she snaps her lips shut. After a few seconds, she ask, “You know that Robert and I made love a few times before him going to Korea?” He nods, “I didn’t have sex until I was on Liz’s payroll. The first time, god, I was a mess.”

“Was he cruel?”

She shakes her head, “He’s what Liz would call a rollover, not necessarily a top gent, but someone who was not partial to a specific woman. She would have these men break in the new girls. The man she picked for me had been a client for a long time.” Pressing her lips in a tight line, she takes a breath, “I felt like I was the scum of the earth.”

The pit of his stomach rolls at the memory of his weakest moment when they weren’t seeing each other. “I felt the same after having sex with Sharon, like I was the biggest prat for stooping so low. I felt as if I was not only cheating on you but spitting on Marianne’s memory.”

“Patrick,” she reaches out and places her hand over his knee.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to stamp down the bile of guilt creeping along his throat. “Marianne had told on her deathbed to find find a woman to love and, while I found it with you, the first woman I am intimate with is someone like her, someone more interested in the money she earns rather than the man she is taking the money from.”

“She’s a pub whore, a scammer who preys on men at their weakest point.”

“I made it easy for her, I was devastated, but at the same time I didn’t how or even if I could fix our relationship.” He rolls his eyes, “At least I used the right part of my brain in bringing a more reliable rubber than the ones in the men's room.”

“Patrick, when it comes to her, there was no cheating involved,” Shelagh murmurs under her breath, “not when I was fucking men hand over fist.” He winces at her brash words, but he allows her to continue. “After Jerry, the rollover, the feeling of deceit began to deaden with each man. It wasn’t until Lindsey showed me how to enjoy sex, did I finally let go of that guilt.” She looks him square in the eyes, “I enjoy sex, Patrick, I’ve had to learn and now it’s second nature to me. I need for you to know that before we can move to the next step.”

He knows that they had talked about this before, but this time it’s different, as if there is a desperation in her voice, begging to be heard. “What does that mean for me?”

She takes a moment to collect herself before answering him, “If you still want to be together, whether it’s in a simple relationship or marriage, I need for you to understand that sex will be a big part of that relationship. If that is something you are not comfortable with then maybe, we can be friends and build up to a more intimate relationship.”

Replaying her words in his mind, he slowly says, “I know Marianne and I were not very intimate before we found out about her cancer, but that was more out of her own fear.” His brow furrows when he sees that she is about to interrupt. “I want to be able to make love to you, to make you happy.”

“I know, but there will be times that I don’t want to make love, I would want to have sex, or, if I may be so bold, to fuck.” He swallows past his surprise, blush warming his cheeks at her daring words. “I just want you to be open to new ideas, different ways to seek pleasure other than the ways you have had with Marianne. I will feel no shame or embarrassment with whatever turns you on, but the moment I make you feel uncomfortable or I go over a line, I want you to talk to me about it.”

“You had told me once that you were scared that I would become uncomfortable with your bossiness in the bedroom and leave you.” And if his memory serves him right, she was also sitting in his lap at that time.

“That is a very real fear of mine,” she timidly reaches over to grasp his hand. “When we talk about honesty, I don’t want us to fall into that same silence when it comes to sex.”

He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles. “As long as it goes both ways, Shelagh. If there is something you want me to do, tell me. Don’t let me guess.”

“I will, Patrick,” she smiles as he pulls her had to his heart. “Lindsey used to call me Ms. Bossyboots during our times together.”

At her bright smile, he wonders out loud, “Are you going to miss that time with her?”

“Yes and no,” she scrunches her nose in thought. “When it’s just us, there was an intimacy that neither of us had to explain. I don’t think it was love, but more of us being completely comfortable with each other, knowing what we needed without having to ask. I am not, however, going to miss the nights of clients though. All that is behind me.” She lifts his hand and kisses his knuckles, “I think once we have all become comfortable, I would like for you to try having both of us.”

“Really?!” Much to his embarrassment, his voice cracks.

She blushes, “I think you would find it to be fun. During our times together, I was the bossy one while she was the kinky one.”

“What is kinky?” His heart speeds up when he says this foreign word, like it’s too dirty to say in front of others.

“Out of the realm of what is normal for sex.”

He is curious as to what that really entails. “Do you mean homosexuality?” He had known a man during the war who liked girls but would prefer to be in the company of men. Just trying to survive, Patrick had no real opinion of it other than whatever helped him to cope.

“Not completely. Homosexuality is more of a taboo thing, even in the world of prostitution. To want something like that, you would have to know the places to go to, since it is still illegal.” She bites down on her bottom lip, “When a man wants two or more women, he’s not asking for homosexual women, he’s asking for two women to pleasure him at the same time. However, a woman cannot call Liz to retain the service of a prostitute.”

He still doesn’t understand. “If that’s only one piece, then what else is there?”

“There are some men who are very particular about certain things. On our first date I told you about the necrophiliac, someone who wants to have sex with dead people, but there are other things that are not as grotesque.”

“Such as?”

“Such as tying someone up or being spanked or using different toys or dominance.”

She says it so innocently, yet with those same pleading eyes that he can’t find himself to say no to. “And…,” he is still trying to wrap his mind around all of those things, “and you want us to try these things?”

“You would have to build up to it,” she gives him an encouraging smile, “but I think in the end you would enjoy it.” He can only assume that she can see the trepidation in his eyes, because she gently adds, “I would never want us to do something like that unless you were completely comfortable with building up to it. I think you are thinking of the worse scenario but, in actuality, something like spanking is not that far off from squeezing one’s ass, which you have done.”

He takes a deep breath, “I was once given the Karma Sutra as a gag gift during my stag party. Does that count?”

“It can be, especially with all of the various positions.” She gives him a mischievous smirk. “I have two copies.”

“I’m glad, because I think I lost mine,” he wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses her cheek.

“Are we okay, Patrick?” At his confusion, she hastily adds, “After all of this talk of sex and kink, are we okay?”

“This is all new and a bit overwhelming, but, yes, we are okay.” He leans in and kisses her, gently, as if her lips were made of rose petals. “I think we are more than okay, don’t you?”

“Very much so,” she smiles as she leans back in to capture his lips.

 

* * *

 

“This is quite a beautiful little place,” Lindsey murmurs as she looks around the parlor.

“Do you mind if we take a walk outside?” Shelagh stands and reaches out for her coat. “It helps to stay in a routine.”

“I don’t mind, darling,” Lindsey smiles as she opens the door. “You do whatever you need to do to get better.”

“In about thirty minutes, they will be serving tea, if you would like to stay for that,” both women step into the garden to find it empty, most people wanting to stay warm inside.

“Patrick tells me that when he comes here to see you, you two usually sit outside to talk.” Taking a deep breath, Lindsey asks, “Do you think they’ll kick me out if I have a cigarette?”

“Kick you out, no.” Shelagh grins as Lindsey reaches into her purse, “Make you feel guilty for lighting up around patients who has a disease of the lungs, definitely.”

“That was not fair, Shelagh,” Lindsey murmurs as she throws her cigarette back in her purse.

Shelagh giggles into the back of her hand, “You asked for my opinion.”

“Yes, but I didn’t ask you to be a total wanker about it,” Lindsey squints her eyes as they make their way past the main garden. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’m taking you to a place where you can light up. There’s a small pond down the way, but with the cold weather, no one will come down to see you breaking the rules.”

“But then that means I won’t be able to see the nice-looking doctors,” Lindsey whines.

“You can’t it both ways, my darling.” Shelagh smiles as Lindsey huffs. “How is Patrick doing with taking on the extra workload?”

“The girls are absolutely in love with him, mainly because he doesn’t blackmail them onto their backsides, but he’s nice to them, instills a sense of trust. Liz was, of course pissed when you told her about Doctor Conner’s little naughty games. I’ve heard that he is unable to get a job anywhere in London.”

“Good riddance,” Shelagh mutters under her breath.

“Patrick was also able to do TB checks on us and we are all clear. Liz thinks you had contracted the disease from the family that you were close with in your building.”

Shelagh squeezes her eyes shut, “That poor, sweet family.”

“Patrick told me that they are being treated in a small sanatorium in the country. When he had checked on them, the mother had said that they liked it so much that they were able to get rehoused out there.”

“I’m glad,” Shelagh sighs, “it was getting harder for him to find work.”

“You see,” Lindsey reaches out and smooths the knot of worry between her eyes, “another happy ending, just how you like it.” Her fingers trace down Shelagh’s cheek, her thumb getting caught on her bottom lip, “Now what about your happy ending?”

“We are still far from reaching the end, but we have made vast improvements. We have talked about a lot of things; his marriage, how I had gotten into this job, the night he had sex with another woman, and I’ve even touched on a few of the clients.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait; let’s back this up… he had sex with another woman?”

“Her name was Sharon and he had met her in a bar. We had not seen each other for a long while and James, the one who had put me in this damn debt to begin with, had said some horrible things to him.” Shelagh watches as Lindsey slips a cigarette out of her purse. “Feeling low, he had met up with her and they had sex. From what I could tell, she was a pub-whore.”

Lindsey rolls her eyes, “Down there with the Cable Street girls, except they have access to sheaths.” She flicks her ash, “Did you tell him about Robert?”

Shelagh nods, “And everything that went with it, including the thoughts of suicide.” Her fingers itch for the beautiful cigarette, but she stuffs them in her lap. “With the exception of a few, he comes every Sunday and we just sit and talk. Sometimes it’s about my life before I met him, sometimes about his life before meeting me, other times we talk about the future. We aren’t perfect, nowhere near a fairytale happy ending, but we’re damn close.”

“Well, despite your current address, you are looking healthy and happy, and I couldn’t be anymore ecstatic for you.”

Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, "We also talked about sex for us when we are able to get to that point." 

"And how did he take it?"

"As well as can be expected." At Lindsey's raised brow, Shelagh hastily adds, "He had naturally assumed that I was just talking about making love, but when I told him about fucking and being kinky, he went a little pale. It is going to be a big learning curve for him, but we agreed that we would be just as open and honest about that part of our lives as we have been these past few months."

"That's all you can hope, my darling." She takes another puff, "Just remember to take it slowly with him."

Nodding, Shelagh quietly changes the subject, “The doctors just told me that I am responding very well to treatment. They think I will be able to be discharged to convalesce within a matter of a fortnight.”

“Really?” Lindsey smiles when Shelagh nods. “Have you told Patrick yet?”

“No, but I want it to be a surprise.”

“Your secret is always safe with me,” Lindsey winks. “And what will your life look like after you spring free from this place?”

“I’m going back to London, buy a few dresses, and make love to Patrick.”

“And marriage, perhaps?”

Shelagh blushes, “We talked a little bit about it, but nothing is set in stone.” She stands up from the bench, “Come on, it’s time for tea and the biscuits are actually rather delicious.”

Putting out her cigarette, Lindsey flicks it in her purse before following behind. “Patrick had told me not too long ago, that you still want to remain friends.”

Shelagh stops and turns around, “You are my best friend, the one who has dried so many tears, I would be a fool to write you off. I already know a few places we can meet up for lunch at and, once things have calmed down, you’ll be able to come over for dinner.”

“And if I want to do something absolutely kinky with you?”

“Not unless Patrick knows and is okay with it.” Shelagh reaches out and draws her thumb along the edge of Lindsey’s chin, “I think our days of wild debauchery is over, my darling.”

“Just as long as I have you back healthy and happy, I don’t care if we become nuns, just as long as we remain friends.”

“Deal,” Shelagh grins, “although, I think we are past the point of no return when it comes to joining a religious order. They take their vow of chastity quite seriously.”

“I’m going to miss you, darling girl,” Lindsey leans in and gives Shelagh a kiss on the cheek. “Alright, wimples, out. Tea and biscuits, in. Let’s go, I am rather famished.”

Interlocking their arms together, Shelagh walks them back up to the main house, “Could I ask you to do a few things for me, all hush hush?”

“Honey, hush hush is my specialty,” Lindsey winks as they walk past the main garden.

 

* * *

 

“So, you said that she will be discharged by this Thursday?” Lindsey looks down into the glass.

“Yes, although, by your lack of enthusiasm, I would take a guess to say that you already knew that,” Patrick smirks before resuming his search.

“She might have mentioned it, but she said nothing of a specific date,” Lindsey lights her cigarette as she distracts herself with some earrings.

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I believe you or not.” Patrick’s eyes light up, “What about this one? 

Lindsey looks over his shoulder, “Ugh! Too gaudy.” She takes a puff, “Do you have everything set up? 

“The appointment has been made, while Tim and I have our suits cleaned and ready to go.” He bends down on his knees to get a closer look, “Is everything good on your end? 

“Peachy. Her dress will be ready to be picked up by Wednesday. Martin was able to take off from work to sign as the second witness. 

“So, you were able to make up?” Patrick stands and continues his perusal.

“We took a page from yours and Shelagh’s book. It’s not perfect, but we were able to talk about it and to come up with a compromise.”

“Relationships are all about compromise,” he mutters as something catches his eyes.

“Yes, well, our compromises are a tad bit different than the normal one’s people make and I can be setting off an explosion right now with my tits hanging out and you wouldn’t even be paying attention.”

“I found it,” he straightens up from the counter and beckons her to come look.

Walking over, she bends over to see what he is pointing to. “Perfection. 

“Really?” A boyish smile lights up his face.

“It’s simple, elegant, and beautiful; it will be perfect for her.”

Patrick looks to the man behind the counter, “That’s the one I’ll take.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters!!! :D


	20. Chapter 20

“Hello, Shelagh,” Patrick stands as she walks down the steps into the garden.

“Patrick!” Running the extra way, she jumps into his arms and kisses him on his lips. “I can’t believe it. Today is my last day in here.” He swings her around before setting her down. “I’m actually walking out of her a healthy woman, with the strict instructions to convalesce.”

“That’s why I wanted to meet you out here first before taking you home,” he smiles. “We have had so many conversations out here, in this very spot. I might not know everything about you, but we’ve crossed our starting point.”

“Patrick, we have the rest of our lives to learn everything about each other; the good, the bad, and the things we had not thought to say out loud.”

“Do you, Shelagh, do you really think we have the rest of our lives?”

“Our love is not perfect, but it’s ours,” her smile widens as she takes his cheek within her palm.

“I have something to give to you,” kissing the tips of her fingers, he then pulls out a box from inside his coat pocket, “from someone we know.”

Opening the plain brown paper, she finds a picture and a message inside, “Please will you marry my dad?” Looking up, she finds him nervously drawing his finger along his bottom lip.

When she doesn’t say anything, he blurts out, “Our love is not perfect by anyone’s standard expect for ours. In my eyes, our love is more than perfect, it’s spectacular.”

“Yes,” she leans in and gently kisses his cheek, “one hundred percent, yes.”

With wide eyes and a beautiful boyish smile, he opens the box and pulls out the ring. “You would make me the happiest man for you to be my wife.”

She enthusiastically nods, “Yes, Patrick, I will be your wife.”

He slips on the ring and leans down to kiss her finger. “I’m glad you want to be my wife, because we are getting married today.”

“We are… wait! What?”

“I have a wedding dress fitted to your size, our wedding guests waiting in the car, and an appointment at the courthouse, if you should want to be married today.”

Shelagh opens her mouth, but no words come out.

That’s when Patrick begins to visibly become nervous, “Or… or if you want, we can wait and have a ceremony in a church with more – oomph!”

She throws her hands around his neck and kisses him silly. “Today is the best day to get married!”

He stands and pulls her up, “Good, because we have ten minutes to get you changed and in the car if we are to make our appointment on time.” Rushing into the building, they are met with an excited crowd of nurses, patients, and their wedding guests.

“Did she say yes, dad?”

“I said yes, Tim,” Shelagh smiles as she gives the youngest guest a big hug. “And you,” she turns to Lindsey, “I should have known that you had a hand in this.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Lindsey winks, “all is in hand.”

“It’s good to see you, Martin,” Shelagh gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s good to see you healthy, Shelagh,” he gives her a wink as her name dramatically rolls off of his tongue.

“Alright,” Nurse Peters claps to get everyone’s attention, “as much as we would all would like to dilly-dally around, you have a wedding to get to. Your friend here,” she points to Lindsey, “has your dress set up in your old room.”

Grabbing hands, both women hurry down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Stumbling into the courthouse; the bride-to-be, the groom-to-be, the two witnesses, and the ring barer all runs down the hall towards the registry, causing a ruckus of laughter in their path.

Just as they step up to the door, the clerk comes out with the closed sign. “May I help you?”

“My name… is Patrick… Turner,” he gulps down some much needed air. “I… had an… appointment.”

“Oh, yes,” the clerk looks at his watch, “you missed the appointment by an hour.”

“Tractors…,” he murmurs still out of breath. “Bloody tractors.”

“What he means to say,” Lindsey steps in to help, “was that we had come across some unexpected traffic. Are you still able to marry them?”

“I don’t—”

“But you have to,” Timothy exclaims. “Shelagh, my dad’s bride, has been in the sana… sana…”

“Sanatorium,” everyone around him finishes.

“In the sanatorium. Now that she’s healthy, they want to get married!”

Taking in the group in front of him, he simply nods and opens the door, “I have to check if there is a judge still here. Please, excuse me.” Slipping out into the hallway where they had just come from, he makes his way towards the chambers.

“Those bloody tractors,” Patrick mumbles under his breath as both women fix their makeup.

“Dad, I’ve never seen you that angry before,” Tim tilt his head to the side. “I could even see a vein thumping along your head.”

“Patrick,” Shelagh grabs his hand. “If we are unable to get a judge today, then we can try again on Monday when they open back up.”

“Good news, I was able to find a judge,” the clerk comes back into the room with someone else behind him. “While he joins you in matrimony, I will draw up the papers.”

“Thank you,” Patrick shakes the clerk’s hand.

“Hello. Peter here tells me that you wish to be married?” When both the bride and groom nods, he continues, “Is there anyone here who wishes to speak against this marriage?” After a moment of silence, he motions Patrick and Shelagh to stand in front of him. “And your names?”

“Patrick and Shelagh.”

The judge turns to Patrick first. “Patrick, do you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do you part?”

Patrick smiles as he looks upon Shelagh, “Yes, I do.”

The judge then turns to Shelagh. “Shelagh, do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do you part?”

Shelagh’s smiles brightly, “Yes, I do.”

“Is there a ring?”

“Oh,” Timothy pulls the ring from his pocket, “here dad.”

Patrick takes it and slides it onto her finger, next to the engagement ring he had given her only a few hours prior. Lifting her hand, he kisses her knuckles.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” He looks to Patrick, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Patrick captures her cheeks within his palms and lightly kisses her lips.

“And I have the paperwork filled out and ready to be signed,” placing everything in front of the couple and all those who needed sign their names.

The judge holds out his hand, “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Turner.”

“Thank you, for doing this on short notice!”

“It’s my pleasure,” he smiles, “Being a judge in a coroner’s court, I don’t always get to do marriages. Best of luck,” and with one last smile, he slips out of the room.

Timothy is the first one to hug Shelagh, “I’m so happy for you and dad.” He pulls back, “Are you coming back to live with us?”

“To live, yes,” Shelagh glances over to the clock, “however, it won’t be tonight.”

“What?” Both Turner men turn to Shelagh.

“If all still goes to plan,” she giggles at their identical confused look. “your father and I will be having our honeymoon tonight. Although, in my own defense, I didn't know it was going to be a honeymoon until this morning.”

“Oh,” Timothy smiles, “dad told me that I am staying at Granny Parker’s for the weekend. She makes the most delicious apple pie.”

“What do you mean, Shelagh,” Patrick asks.

“I mean, it looks as if Lindsey helped us both,” Shelagh looks to her friend and smiles when she nods. “It was my surprise for you. She has a suitcase packed for both of us, our train for Brighton leaving in an hour and half.”

“With accommodations at The Old Ship Inn, a lovely suite overlooking the pier,” Lindsey dramatically swoons.

Patrick turns to her, “No wonder you told me not to worry about the honeymoon.”

Lindsey plants her fists on her hips, “Do you know how hard it was to keep both of you happy and in the dark?”

The clerk comes back to their small group, “Everything seems to be in order. Congratulations Dr. and Mrs. Turner.”

 

* * *

 

“Welcome in, Mrs. Turner,” Patrick grins as he lifts Shelagh and walks her through the door of their hotel room.

“Thank you, Doctor Turner,” she kisses him on the cheek before he lets her down. As the valet comes in to drop off their suitcases, Shelagh goes into the bathroom to freshen herself up. When she walks back out, she sees Patrick opening his suitcase. “Do you not trust what Lindsey packed in?”

“No,” he exams the contents of his clothes. “For a three-day honeymoon, she only packed in two sets of clothes.”

 She steps up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, “That because we are on our honeymoon. Where do you expect to go?”

After a moment of inquisitive silence, he turns to her and captures her cheeks, “You are right, my darling wife.”

“Hmmm,” she kisses the pad of his thumb, “I like the sound of that. Call me that again.”

“My darling,” he kisses one cheek, “beautiful,” he kisses the other, “completely mine,” he kisses the tip of her nose, “wife.” He crashes his lips onto hers, their excited bodies pressing together.” Backing her to the edge of the bed, their fingers run through each other’s hair, their kisses starting to become sloppy.

“Oh, Patrick,” she rolls her head back, enjoying the light nip of his tongue along the curve of her neck, “I have been dreaming of this night for so long.” He pulls back just a bit, his hair tousled, his lips swollen and red. She sits down on the edge, her hands trail down to his hips. “Now that we are finally here,” she glances up through her eyelashes, “I can’t help but feel a slight trepidation.”

Patrick clambers down to his knees between her legs. “Because of your profession before?”

She runs her fingers through his hair, the look of it wildly framing his sweet face causing her heart to flutter madly. “Among other things.” He nuzzles his cheek within her palm. “I want this to be perfect, I want to pleasure you the way a wife would pleasure her husband.”

His brow furrows, “You have more experience in that area.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, “Yes, but I don’t want to pleasure you like a whore who wants to prove her negotiation prices.” Her fingers drop down to the closed button under his collar, not having the courage to look at him. “Being a whore was my past life, being your wife is my present and my future.”

He reaches out and tilts her chin up with the tip of his finger, “I’m nervous too. I want to make you forget all of those other men, to be the lover you want me to be in this relationship.”

“Our fears and desires and our expectations,” she cups his cheek within her hand. “It was daunting the first time I was with Robert.”

“As with Marianne,” he kisses the heel of her hand, “but one thing that I should have done with her is talk, be open about this part of our relationship as I was with all of the other aspects.” He takes a deep breath, “I promised you before that we would keep this part of our conversation open and honest and I intend to keep that promise.” As worry seeps into her brow, he stands and sits next to her. “If you would like, I can just hold you tonight, kiss you, touch you, tell you how much I love you, call you my wife until you fall asleep.”

She blushes, “You would do that, on our honeymoon?”

“You were just released from the sanatorium this morning,” he offers her a small smile.

“No Patrick, my dearest husband, I want to make love to you, to kiss you and touch you in places that hold me captive, to call out my husbands name when I orgasm.” Her lips ghost along his, the taste of desire charging back through the air between them. “I’m bossy.”

“Good thing I’m a diligent student,” he closes the distance, their lips once again becoming ravenous.

Yet, just as his fingers flutter along the scoop neck of her dress, she pulls away with an erroneous moan sweeping across his lips. Standing on shaky legs, she settles herself against the small table across the room. “I want to see you take off your clothes.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Slowly,” she reminds him as he begins to pull apart the fabric.

First, he tugs his tie lose, throwing it off to the side. Next to join it is his oxford – Shelagh keeping her moan under her breath as he slips out the cufflinks – and vest, followed by his belt and shoes.

Just as he reaches down to the clasp of his pants, she calls out, “No, I want to do that.” Sashaying up to him, his caveman eyes never leaving her form, she unhooks his pants and pulls down the zipper, careful to keep her touch to the small bit of metal. Glancing up to him through her lashes, she pushes his pants down. “Kick them off, dearest,” she steps back, “and push down your boxers.”

Trailing her eyes down the slopes of his body, she takes in his wiry figure, his chest and leg muscles strong from his role as a GP in the neediest area, while his belly is more round from the offerings from grateful patients. When he pulls down his boxers, she keeps her attention on his face, the slight trepidation crossing his otherwise hungry features.

Twirling around, Shelagh beckons from over her shoulder. “Undress me, Patrick.”

Instantly he is behind her, pulling the zipper down, kissing the small patch of exposed skin just above her shoulder blade. Adding her dress to the tall pile of clothes, his hands cup her hips, the length of his cock pressing into the small of her back.

“Sit down on the bed, Patrick,” she murmurs over her shoulder.

Nipping his teeth along the base of her neck, he pulls back and falls to the edge of the mattress. “You are gorgeous, my wife,” he whispers as she twirls back around to face him.

She rakes her eyes down the length of his body, including the jutting soldier, and moans, “You are absolutely perfect, husband.” She steps between his knees and runs her fingers through his hair, “Other than Sharon, how long has it been since you have had sex?”

“The last time Marianne and I made love was just after her diagnosis, over two years ago.”

“You will be bursting at the seams,” she grins, “hitting your orgasm before you’ve even time to process you’re in me. Now, I can give you two options, Patrick; one, you cum inside me, or two, you cum inside my mouth.”

His eyes roll into the back of his head, his breath coming out in short pants. “I don’t want you to do something that you don’t want.”

“That is where conversation comes in, darling,” she runs her nail along the shell of his ear, “if there is something that I don’t want to do, I will tell you. But the options I gave you are what I am comfortable with.”

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kisses and presses her cheek into her belly. “No one has put their… mouth on, uhhh, me.”

“Are you comfortable enough to let me try?” She kisses the top of his head when he nods. “It’s going to be quick, Patrick, but this is certainly not the end to our night.” She lifts his chin up, “It is just the beginning.” Never losing sight of his eyes while she bends down onto her knees, she holds herself up by palming his thighs. “Are you, okay?”

His fingers twists through the blanket on top of the bed, “I am so close,” he barely breathes out.

Leaning down, she kisses the top of his thigh, the light twitch of his muscle telling her that he likes it so far. Lightly ghosting her lips along his throbbing head, it takes one, long lick from hilt to tip for him to finish in her mouth.

“I’m…,” his whole-body quivers, his chest heaving in the same short pants, “I’m sorry.”

She kisses his thigh, “Why? Because you achieved an orgasm like I said you would.” She looks up to him through her lashes. “The next time I do that, I promise that it will take a lot more than one lick to get you off.” Standing up, she unhooks her white lacy bra and throws it off to the side. “I would like for us to lay in bed. I want to touch you and, I’m sure you would like to touch me.”

He leans in and kisses the spot just below her bellybutton. “You look beautiful in these,” his lips trail down to the band of her matching panties.

“Only your eyes have seen them, no one else,” she curls a strand of his hair around her finger.

He leans back and whispers, “Turn around for me.” She slowly twirls for him, making it a show as she shakes her hips, until her stops her by grabbing onto her waist. “I have never seen this type of underwear before.”

“How unfortunate Doctor Turner,” she murmurs over her shoulder. “It’s called a thong. Is it something that you like?”

“Where can I buy you these?” He kisses the small of her back, his fingers playing along the thin, lacy hem.

“In any lingerie shop or department store.”

“I like these,” he pulls down the scrap of fabric down the curve of her ass, “however, if I knew that you were wearing these under your dress, I would not be able to function for the whole day until I was able to take them off of you.”

“How delightful,” she sighs as she kicks her panties across the room. Twirling back around, she presses the tip of her finger against his chest, “Lay down on the bed, my dearest husband.” Instead of following her direction, he stares at the apex between her legs. “Do you like that I shaved down there?”

“I… I don’t know,” he reaches out and runs his finger along the top of her pubic bone. “When women are towards the end of their pregnancy, they are encouraged to shave.”

“I can grow it out if you would prefer,” goosebumps erupt all over her body, his light touch driving her wild, “but I think it will be easier for you when you lick me.”

His hand falls into his lap as he glances up to her, “I want to do that, right now.”

Leaning down, she kisses his cheek before settling on the bed. “Come between my legs, Patrick.” When he twists his body between her knees, she wrestles with herself on if she should give him a lesson or if she should let him continue on.

“Marianne was never comfortable with me doing this to her. I would touch her with my fingers, but never this.” He kisses the inside of her thigh. “I think she was embarrassed, especially since I spend most of my time during my profession in this exact position. The only difference, is that there is a lot of screaming or cursing and a baby’s head crowning.”

She lifts her head up, “Would you like for me to help you through it or do you want to explore?”

“Both, I think,” his warm breath tickling her thighs.

“Well, it’s important to know that I am not in labor,” she starts off.

He lifts himself up, a sly smirk playing along his lips, “Hence the absence of cursing.”

“You haven’t heard me orgasm yet.” The giggle that slips out helps to relieve some of the pent-up pressure between them. “I’ll give a few pointers, then I’ll leave you up to your own devices.” She sits up onto her elbows, “First, this is meant for you to excite both of us, go slow, take your time. If you are not reaching the right spot, then I will tell you. Next, don’t be afraid to touch me or to use your fingers. Last, the second I reach my orgasm, I want you to be inside me.”

Nodding his head, he scoots his knees under his body as he spreads her legs further apart. Much to her delight, he is steadily getting harder. Leaning over, he captures her nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking across her peak.

Not expecting that to be his first move, she arches her back off of the bed, the feel of his cockhead sliding along her pussy making her groan out loud.

Switching to the other breast, he runs the tip of his thumb along the wet peak and then lightly pinches it. Once both of her breasts are excited to sharp points, he then begins his trail down the slope of her body, stopping at various points, swirling his tongue and nipping his teeth along her skin.

“Holy shit, Patrick,” she threads her fingers through his hair when he finally makes it to between her legs. If he weren’t to keen on fucking her with his mouth, she would have pulled him back up and demand him to make love to her right at this very moment.

His fingers sizzle a sensuous path along her thighs when he takes her into his mouth, the flat of his tongue quickly finding her clit within a matter of seconds. With a mix of tight circles and languorous licks, he has her racing to that glorious crest far sooner than she had thought.

“Oh, Patrick,” she moans, her back completely arched off of the mattress. With the addition of his fingers, she gladly jumps from that precipice, quivering under the intensity of her orgasm.

He immediately flushes his body against her, crashing his lips onto her mouth as he lifts her leg around his waist. Positioning himself at her center, he leans back and tenderly smiles, “I love you, my darling wife.”

She reaches up and captures his cheek, “As do I, my husband.” Pressing her heel into his ass, he thrusts in her, filling her to the hilt.

Their moans climb the walls as he pulls back and drives into her. Their symphony of noises fills the room with each stroke into her body, each touch that sets fire to her soul, each kiss upon her pristine skin until they reach an angle in which his pubic bone caresses her clit.

“Patrick, I’m… I’m…,” her eyes roll back as her orgasm sweetly overtakes her body.

Pressing his hips into her, he barbarically groans when he reaches his final peak. Catching his body before he collapses onto her, he takes her lips for his own.

“Lay on me, husband,” she runs her hand along his neck, “I want to feel our hearts beat together.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs as he rubs the tip of his nose along hers.

“You won’t,” she assures him with a smile before he complies. “You were quite magnificent.”

“You are exquisite, my darling,” he leans onto his elbow above her. “The way you say my name when you orgasm is my new favorite sound.” When she giggles, he quips, “Along with that one, too.” He lazily kisses her cheek, “I do have to admit to you that these moves were not of my own device.”

“What do you mean?”

He blushes, “Last week, when I finished out my exams of you former co-workers, they would say the oddest things in passing as they were about to walk out the door.”

“Such as?”

“Such as ‘start at the nipples’ or ‘make love to her whole body, not just the excitable parts’ or ‘use the flat of your tongue rather than the tip’. It took me a while to figure out that they were giving me advice.”

He rolls his eyes when she giggles into her palm. “But how did they know?”

“Since Lindsey was the one helping me, I had confronted her. She told me that those things were what these women thought every man should know.” His smile lights up his face, “I figured it couldn’t hurt to have them.”

“Come along, darling,” she lightly kisses his lips as she bucks her hips against his, “let’s go wash up. Despite all of the excitement from the day, I am rather looking forward to getting some sleep.”

Climbing off of the bed, they both go into the bathroom to clean and ready themselves for bed. Just as they walk to their bed, Patrick steps over to the clothes along the floor. Just as he pulls up his boxers, Shelagh coyly calls out to him, “Please don’t cover up on my account. You just make it more of a challenge for me to suck you off in the morning.”

Patrick’s eyes widen, “You would do that?”

“I love every part of your body. Nothing would make me happy than to pleasure you with my mouth.” Her words are sincere, just the thought of bringing him to a climax with her mouth excites her to no end. _And, apparently, he likes the thought too_ , she smirks when she sees his boxers twitch. “Just one little advice, if you have not already heard it before; I like you pull my hair.”

Groaning as he shoves off his boxers, he quickly joins her in bed. “You are insatiable, my darling.”

“Funny,” she murmurs as they snuggle against each other under the sheets, “I was just about to say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (kinky) epilogue is the only thing left which I might post later today, if not then soon... ;D


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out, our dear, sweet Patrick likes a little bit of kink. ;D

** Paris, France, March 1959  **

 

“I think I’m in heaven.”

“I know I am.”

Shelagh smirks, the washcloth she strokes along Patrick’s chest casting tiny bubbles in its wake. “At one point, I didn’t think that we would be able to get here.” Enjoying the weight of his body pressing into her chest, she skims the washcloth over his shoulders. “I hope Timothy is okay.”

Since his unexpected bout with polio, Shelagh had been hesitant to keep these arrangements that Patrick had made as a Christmas surprise. Eventually, it was Timothy himself, who had encouraged them to go, especially with the promise of Granny Parker spoiling him for a whole weekend.

“We were able to call him twice since checking in and, as you could hear through the squealing, he is having a marvelous time with his granny.”

“I know,” she sighs, her washcloth making its way down his stomach, “I just worry.”

“Granny Parker has everything under hand and, if anything should happen, she has the number to the hotel.”

“You’re right, dearest,” she kisses the shell of his ear as she slides the cloth below his belly. Leaning against the curve of the porcelain, she opens her body to allow Patrick to relax.

“You know,” he mumbles as the washcloth slips below the water line, “I wouldn’t mind so much the size of our room, if the tub weren’t within arms reach of our bed.”

“Welcome to Paris,” she draws gentle kisses along the back of his neck.

“Within in your ‘luxury room’, you have a large bed and tub, but nothing else,” he captures her wondering hand and kisses her wrist, “including a walkway around such big items.”

“I find it to be quaint,” she slips her fingers from under his lips, “besides with a view like this,” she tips her head towards the large window, beautifully framing the Eiffel Tower, “you can’t beat it.”

“Just as long as you are happy.”

“Very,” she kisses the tip of his ear, rinsing off the cloth in the bath water. “How were you able to acquire such luxurious lodgings?”

“Louis.” He pulls her foot from underneath the water and begins to massage her muscles. “With his job at the Flamingo, he knows many connections.”

“And when can I open my present?”

“You may open it whenever you would like,” lifting himself up, he reaches for both of their wedding presents to each other. “Just as long as I can open mine,” he settles opposite of her before giving her the white box he had purchased long before the end of her debt.

Ripping it open, she squeals in delight at the hint of silky black fabric she sees poking out from between the tissue paper. Holding up the lingerie from its straps, she licks her lips, hungry to slip the naughty bit of clothing on for Patrick’s enjoyment. “I adore it! It’s… it’s…,” realization hits when she recognizes the garment, “Its Dior!”

“I couldn’t resist the splurge,” his eyes dances with boyish delight, “I knew it would be perfect on you.”

“I can’t wait to wear it!” She gently folds it back into the box, “Maybe tomorrow for dinner.”

“Just as long as I get to have you for dessert,” he cheekily quips back.

She holds up her left hand, showing off her wedding ring, “Lucky boy. You get to have me for desserts anytime you would like.” Her foot instantly pops up from the water and pushes against his chest, needing to sedate his raging desires after such a comment searing like fire in his hazel eyes. “Your turn.”

Patrick kisses the tip of her toe before opening his present. “You got it back!” He holds up the tie Lindsey had thrown out. “I was rather depressed to see this being thrown out.”

“Simmer down, Cowboy,” she leans forward and crawls along his legs. “You are to never wear this tie in public ever again.”

His brow dips in confusion, “Then what is this for?”

“Do you trust me?” She kisses along his jaw.

“More than anyone I know.”

“Good,” she gives him one more peck before standing up. “Follow me,” she flicks her eyes towards the bed, her skin puckering in such a delicious manner as to the wild ideas of pleasure running through her mind.

She licks her lips as he clambers out of the tub, his cock ready for their playtime. “What would you like me to do?”

“Lay down with your hands above your head.” She nips the ugly tie from its package, stretching it as far as it can go, testing its durability. Once he is spread out on the mattress, she climbs on and straddles his waist. “I absolutely adore making love to you, my heart beating wildly against your heart, but tonight, we are naughty wanton lovers.” She expertly wraps the material around his wrists and through the metal spokes on the headboard. “Making love is not on the menu.”

“Damn, I do love a good dessert,” his tongue darts out and laps around her outstretched nipple.

“I’m going to fuck you, my darling husband,” she barely holds in her giggle as his eyes widen to her naughty words. “And before you have a chance to cum, you are going to fuck me into this mattress.”

His hips buck, the tip of his cock gliding through her slick folds as he pulls on his bindings.

“You see?” She kisses the tip of his nose. “The restriction starts out frustrating, but once we get into our groove, you will find how pleasurable that restriction can be.” To demonstrate, she slides the head of his penis into her wanting center, but only far enough to have him begging when she pulls away.

“I want you,” he childishly groans.

“But don’t you see, dearest,” she gives him a sly grin, “I want you more.” She slithers down his body, not perfect by any means, but most certainly hers and no one else’s. “Do you trust me, Patrick?”

His eyes – _my god, his gorgeous eyes_ – glows with the warmth of love. “Always.”

She kisses the top of his thigh and then the other. She alternates, drawing a sensual line until her nose nuzzles against his scrotum. “I’ve dreamed of having you like this since our first date together.” He shivers against her, his moans climbing the walls as she kisses his warm shaft. “All tied up and mine for the taking.”

“Shelagh…,” he pulls on the silk, “I want to touch you.”

“You are touching me,” she runs the flat of her tongue along the thumping vein of his penis.

“I want to — ohhhhh…,” his back arches as she takes him fully into her mouth.

“Say it, Patrick,” she dives down again, her hand leading the charge, “say that you want to fuck me.”

“I… I… ohhh, bloody—” She grins as best as she can, his balls weighing heavily within her palm as her teeth scrape along his sensitive skin. “God, I want to fuck you.”

She pulls herself up, her lips kissing his pulsing head. “Where do you want to fuck me? How do you want to fuck me?” Her fingers glide along his slick cock, his raging chest heaving wildly at both her touch and her words. “Tell me, dearest, where do you find yourself exploding.”

“I want… god, fuck,” she slows her hand, his eyes widening as he looks down at her, “I want you to fuck me with your mouth.”

“Mmm,” she licks her lips, pleasure tingling down her spine, “with pleasure.” She takes him all in, her muscles relaxing as she swallows him to his hilt. Within an instant, the room is filled with his erroneous moans in response to the slick sounds her mouth creates. Just as she feel him tense, the taste of his impending climax coats her tongue, she gently pulls away with a cat-ate-canary grin.

“Bloody hell,” his lungs ravages against his chest as the rest of his body quivers against her palms.

She leans over him, her slick nipple teasing his lips, and loosens his bindings. “Fuck me with your mouth.”

He wraps his arms around her waist and twists their bodies so that he is now on top of her. “With pleasure, my darling.”

“Tie up my wrists, dearest,” she dictates in a prim voice.

For a split moment, concern flashes in his eyes. “Tell me if it hurts you.”

“I will,” she captures his cheek within her palm, leans up and soundly kisses him. Just as he takes her wrists within his own grasp, she lies back onto the mattress, a sly grin playing along her swollen lips. “I’m going to turn over before you tie me up.”

His eyes widen at her words, “But, we’ve never—”

“Time to move on to bigger and better positions.” She pushes against his chest and turns so that she is on her elbows and knees, ass high in the air. “Now you may tie me up.”

He leans over her, wrapping the ugly tie around her wrists.

“Mmmm,” she presses herself against his hips, the feel of his pulsing excitement sending sharp shivers down her spine. “You are loving the sight of me like this.” She glances over her shoulder, his eyes focused on her as she shakes her ass for him. “This is my favorite position.”

His fingers timidly reach out, squeezing her globes as she pushes into his palms. “Why is that?” His other hand joins the party.

“You will fill me deeper,” she lifts her ass higher, “not to mention, you can spank me.”

He spreads her cheeks, his probing finger slipping against her vaginal lips, questing to find her clit. “Would you like me to spank you?”

“Only if you’re, ohhhh,” she moans as he runs tight circles along her clit, “mmmm, only if you’re comfortable with it.” She pulls on her bindings, the fabric deliciously cutting into her skin as he swirls his middle finger along her opening. “Mmmm,” she bites down on her bottom lip, “such a fast learner.”

His other hand squeezes her fleshy ass, lightly striking her.

“Harder.”

He strikes her again.

“Mmmm,” she nuzzles further into Patrick’s palm, “harder.”

Quickening his fingers between her thighs, she quickly climbs her peak as he spanks her, the delicious sound of his palm to her skin ringing off the walls.

She tightens her grip on the fabric binding her to the bed, “Right there… yesss, right th – ohhhh…,” she literally melts into the mattress. She would like nothing more than to wrap the both of them in their covers and fall blissfully asleep, however, his fingers continues to excite her, setting her belly in flames once again.

“Did you ever allow anyone to be back here?” His question is spoken so softly, yet it’s his inquisitive thumb that helps her understand what he is asking.

“Yes,” she quietly confesses, knowing full well that sodomy is still illegal. “However, it was only with regulars that I trusted.” She glances over her shoulder, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “It is something that we would have to build up to. It can be enjoyable for you as well, especially when I have you in my mouth.”

“Do you like it?” She shivers as the pad of his thumb plays with the outer rim.

“Some of my more intense orgasms have come from anal play,” he presses against her puckered hole, her breath quickening, “however, I still stand by my earlier statement that we should build up to it, together.”

“I understand,” he gives her tightened hole another agonizing slow circle before going back onto safe territory. “How are your wrists?”

“Just fine,” she can sense his hesitation under his quivering fingers. “Fuck me into this mattress, Patrick.” She arches her back, feline-like, as she feels the bed dipping from him readjusting himself, his cock kissing her folds.

Thrusting in her, his hands grip her hips as he pulls back and plows back into her. “God,” he squeezes her ass, one hand striking her just the way she likes it, “you feel so good.”

Her head falls between her burning arms, her muscles tense as he smacks her again.

Multiple sounds permeates their small room; the headboard banging against the wall, the slap of his palm striking her ass, the dirtiness of her encouraging words, his keen sighs as he pummels into her.  

She is the first to reach her peak, her body convulsing as he spanks her one last time. As her muscles tightens around him, he tightens his hold onto her waist, his hips pressing against her as he reaches his own climax.

She falls down onto the mattress, her limbs unable to hold her up for one more second. Her eyelids slide close, heavy for sleep. She briefly opens her eyes when the tie is pulled away from her wrists and a warm cloth is placed between her legs. “Come to bed, Patrick.”

“Right after I find my boxers.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” she sleepily grins in her pillow.

“I know how you loved to be challenged, my dear,” he climbs in behind her and pulls her close to his chest. “Especially when it come to you having your naughty ways with me.”

“Mmmm, I love you, my darling husband,” she sighs into the warmth of his arms.

“I love you, my dearest wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all she wrote folk...
> 
> Thank you for taking a chance on this crazy, weird, completely AU, sometimes hard to swallow story. Some of you enjoyed it, some, maybe, not so much, a lot of people gave wonderful feedback in various forms. I appreciate you more than you will ever know!!! I want to specifically thank @tangledupinmist for her generosity and help when the sight of this story made me want to vomit! Thank you, thank you, thank you to ALL you guys!!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


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